The 75th Hunger Games
by sweetlittlehoneybee
Summary: What if the Third Quarter Quell was different than in CF, but Katniss still had to go back into the arena, which is also different? Plus, Katniss makes an important realization about her and Peeta's relationship. *NO Mockingjay Spoilers*
1. Chapter 1

**A/N - Hey everyone! This is my first Hunger Games fanfiction, but since I love the books so much I thought I'd give it a try :) Just some quick background info, this story takes place starting at the part in Catching Fire when Katniss's wedding gown photo shoot is aired, along with the announcement about the 3rd Quarter Quell. BUT the Quarter Quell is different than the one in the book. Plus there's a lot of Katniss and Peeta 3. Hope you like it, and please review!**

**Chapter 1**

"Katniss!" cries Prim, and I hear the sound of her feet hitting the floor as she races through our new house in the Victor's Village. "Katniss! It's on!"

I sigh and roll over, burying my face in the fluffy pillows. Of course I find it totally adorable that Prim is so excited over the premier of my wedding dress photo shoot, but me? Not so much. Just as I hear her loud knock on my bedroom door, the doorbell goes off downstairs.

Peeta.

"Katniss?" My mother shouts, "Peets'a here to watch the shoot with you."

"Katniss?" Prim lets herself in and shakes me gently.

"Katniss!" My mother repeats, annoyed.

"Katniss, get up! It's mandatory viewing, plus it isn't nice to keep poor Peeta waiting." Prim tugs on my arm.

I let a moan escape my lips. It's all just too much for me. First the games, then President Snow's visit, then the victory tour. Now, to top it all off, I'm being forced by the Capitol to marry Peeta. Not that I don't like him – I do. I probably even love him. But all of the emotions I've been feeling lately have become one tangled, chaotic mess inside of my head.

"Katniss!" says Prim. "It started a few minutes ago!"

It's just too much for one person to handle. That's exactly what it is. Too much. If it wasn't for Peeta grounding me, I'd have turned to alcohol like Haymitch.

I roll over on my back, turning my eyes on Prim. Her features soften immediately upon noticing they're rimmed with red.

"Oh, Katniss." My little sister sits down on the bed and wraps her arms around me. I force a smile and push her away gently.

"You're right," I say with fake brightness, hoping Prim won't detect it. "We better go. It's just been a pretty wild few months."

Prim nods understandingly, even though I know that what I'm going through, she could never truly understand. There's only one other person in my life that comes close to getting it – really getting it. And he's sitting downstairs right now, probably wondering why I won't come out of my room to see him.

"Quick." I grab Prim's hand, force another smile, and pull her along behind me. We enter the living room just as I appear on the television screen in my second number. My stomach clenches as everything I'd just been thinking about becomes more real.

I liked it a lot better buried in those pillows.

My mother is seated in the armchair closest to the TV, and she turns to me when Prim and I appear. "Katniss, where have you been?" Her tone is stern, and when I see Peeta seated all alone on the loveseat, I don't blame her.

"Just...thinking," I say carefully. My gaze falls on Peeta, who is smiling sadly. Like I said – only he knows and understands just what I'm thinking about. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Peeta."

"No, it's fine." He scoots over on the couch to make room for both me and Prim, who won't let go of my hand. She's staring, mesmerized, at the screen, sighing every now and then.

Peeta places his arm over my shoulders and leans in to whisper in my ear. "Katniss, are you alright?"

If I was the kind of person who could let down my walls for Peeta, invite him in, then I'd have been able to shake my head. But I'm not that kind of person. Peeta may know what I'm going through better than anyone, but he doesn't know everything. I don't _want_ him to know everything.

So I just nod my head and crack a small smile. Peeta looks at me, unsure, before saying, "I know this is hard for you. Do you want to talk about it after the program?"

"Nah," I whisper back, "I'm fine. Really." The look on Peeta's face makes me feel even worse about not being able to open up to him. But he does his best to mask his emotions because that's just the kind of person he is.

The kind of person I'll never, ever deserve.

When I've finished parading around the television screen in my collection of wedding gowns, an announcement is made for everyone to stay tuned for an important message from the president. My stomach sinks when the realization of what the message can only be dawns on me.

"I wonder what it could be," contemplates Prim aloud. I turn to Peeta, who also knows. I find the hand that had been sitting in his lap, and grab onto it tightly. He squeezes.

A few moments later, President Snow materializes on the screen and I can't help but shudder. His visit to me before the Victory Tour is still fresh in my mind, along with the scent I'd detected on his breath – blood and roses. Peeta pulls me in closer.

"As you all know, the Third Quarter Quell is coming up very quickly," the president declares in a loud, dominating voice that makes my blood run cold, "and tonight I will announce what it will be." He goes on to explain the history of Panem, the rebellion, the Hunger Games in general. As he speaks, Peeta rubs his thumb over the back of my hand in a comforting motion. I look up into his deep blue eyes and smile anxiously.

"So what will the Third Quarter Quell be?" My eyes are glued to the screen as President Snow draws a small manila envelope from the box before him, the envelope marked '3'. I take a breath and prepare myself for this year's new twist on torture.

"This year," President Snow opens the envelope, careful not to tear the flap, and pulls out the card. "Oh!" He exclaims. I, along with every citizen of Panem, hold my breath as his eyes travel back and forth across the card. When he continues, the silence in my home is suffocating. "Well now, this is new. Quite interesting, actually. It seems that for the 75th Hunger Games there will be only twelve tributes, all of which are girls." He goes on to explain about rebels and the meaning of the Quell, but I don't listen.

Prim turns to me with wide eyes. I'm about to address her expression when the President continues.

"Oh, wait! And there's something else. Any existing female victors between the ages of 12 and 17 will have their names entered in the draw as well. Hmm, this is very different." The President gives a light-hearted, yet cruel laugh. "It looks as though this Hunger Games will shape up to be one of the most exciting yet." And with that, our screen goes blank.

I'm frozen. Unable to move. As a victor, I was supposed to be safe for the rest of my life. My name was never to be put forth in the Reaping again. But now I just feel foolish. When would I ever truly be safe from the Capitol? According to President Snow, my little berry stunt at the end of my games had stirred up thoughts of rebellion. Since the idea was completely unacceptable, I'd had to convince everyone in Panem of my innocence. That I had defied the Capitol because I was so madly in love with Peeta. But my act hadn't been enough. And this was how President Snow was going to get rid of me along with the question of rebellion once and for all.

"Katniss-" Peeta starts but I cut him off.

"My name is going to be pulled. It's no coincidence that for the Third Quarter Quell only girls will participate and the names of existing victors in the right age group will be put forward. They planned it this way to get rid of me. The whole girl thing was arranged so that you couldn't volunteer for me, like everyone knows you would."

"Katniss, just because your name will be in the draw doesn't mean it will be pulled," says Peeta, sounding as though he's trying to convince himself of that fact more than me.

I feel anger begin to rise within me. I'm angry at the Capitol, at President Snow, and even at Peeta for reasons I can't explain. "Peeta, open your eyes!" I snap. "I've started talk of a rebellion, and now they need to get rid of me as damage control. This is the perfect way to do it, without too much suspicion."

Peeta's voice rises in volume. "Without suspicion? Katniss, really. If your name gets pulled, everyone will know it wasn't just a sad coincidence."

"Not necessarily. People will just think the Capitol wanted a true fighter to be thrown into the mix. And if not, _so what_!" I hear myself screaming. "What will the people do? We're all just prisoners of the Capitol!"

"We could start a rebellion!" counters Peeta in a controlled, yet loud voice.

"That's the whole reason the Capitol's doing this!" I cry, dumbfounded by Peeta's naivety. "I started this alleged rebellion, so now I'm the one who has to pay. Not only are they making an example of me, but they're diminishing their chances of a full scale rebellion with me as its supposed leader."

"Would you actually do that? Lead a rebellion?" Asks Peeta quietly.

"Oh, I don't know! Maybe? Probably not. It would hurt those I love too much. But the Capitol doesn't know that." All of a sudden I feel my eyes begin to get wet. But I can't cry. Not now.

Peeta, as usual, takes notice, and he pulls me into a tight embrace. All of the fight seems to drain out of me, and I bury my head into Peeta's shoulder. Then I can't help myself. I begin to sob.

It's just like the nightmares I have almost every night. Only this time, I know I'm not going to wake up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

That night is a difficult one. Prim stays with me for a while, claiming she won't leave until I fall asleep. When she begins to yawn repeatedly, I close my eyes and fake it.

What I'd give to have Peeta lying with me, protecting me from the inevitable nightmares.

At two in the morning, when I know sleep is impossible, I crawl out of bed and pull a sweater over my night shirt. After I've re-braided my messy hair and brushed my teeth, I wander out of the house and into the street.

It's a chilly night. I wrap my arms tightly around myself and look up into the sky. There are no clouds, and the full moon is brighter than I've ever seen it. Billions of stars stand out against the blackness. If my world wasn't being torn apart, I think I would have found the view beautiful.

"Katniss?" a surprised voice calls out from behind me. Startled, I spin around, ready to attack. Hunter's reflexes. But it's just Peeta.

"Peeta?" I reply incredulously. "What are you doing out here?" He's sitting on the wooden bench in front of his home.

"I would ask you the same question, but I already know the answer." Peeta pats the empty portion of bench next to him. As I make my way over, I take note of the concern in his eyes.

"Peeta, don't worry. Please. I'll be okay." Despite how hard I'm trying to stay strong, my voice quivers. As if by instinct, Peeta reaches out to me and pulls me into his arms.

"Listen, Katniss. If-"

"When."

_"If _you end up going into that arena again, I _will_ bring you out alive. You won't have to rely on Haymitch alone. It' the least I can do." Peeta sounds so determined, so confident, that I don't have the heart to tell him that the Gamemakers probably have some horrific death already planned out for me.

Anyways, it's my turn to protect _him_.

"Okay," is all I say before curling up on the bench with my head in Peeta's lap.

And then I fall into a deep, nightmare-less sleep.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning I'm lying in my own bed, sunlight streaming through the window. I feel slightly off, and for a moment I'm confused. Then the reality of what had happened the night before comes crashing down upon me.

The photos-shoot. President Snow's announcement. The upcoming Quell. Not to mention falling asleep on the bench in Peeta's lap. Speaking of that, how did I end up here? He must have carried me.

Slowly, I pull myself up onto hands and knees and step lightly to the floor. I do my best to block everything from my mind as I change into a plain blue shirt and jeans. There are big purple bags under my eyes, but based on the small amount of sleep I got last night, I'm not surprised.

Just as I'm about to leave my room, there's a barely audible knock on the door.

"Come in!" I call and take a seat on the edge of my bed. The door opens and my mother walks in.

"You're up," she observes, taking the seat next to me. I nod, and my mother continues. "How are you doing?"

I shrug and say, without much emotion, "Fine, I guess. I'm still trying to accept the fact that in a few months, I'm going to die."

My mom looks up at me with the saddest of expressions. "You don't know that, Katniss," she whispers.

Once again, I don't have the heart to explain just how hopeless my situation really is. So instead, I lean my head against her shoulder, trying to hold back tears. I hate how vulnerable this makes me feel.

After a few moments, my mother breaks the silence. "You know, Peeta came by this morning. He left a bag of your favourite cookies along with the bread."

I smile faintly. "How sweet of him." I think back to last night, and how he got me through it. "Actually, I think I'll go see him."

"Of course. Take all the time you need." My mother squeezes me a little tighter before giving me a gentle shove forwards. "Go."

And so I do. As I walk in the direction of the door, I can't help but notice how quiet it is. I know Prim is at school, but I yearn for her to be there with me. I've got only three or so months left with her, and I want to make the most of them. Sighing, I grab a light jacket and head out into the street. Peeta and Haymitch are sitting together on the bench from last night.

"Oh, hi," I say cheerfully while making my way over. The pair looks up from what appeared to have been an intense conversation to greet me.

"Hey Katniss. Did you get much sleep?" Peeta asks with a small smile.

"Yeah, thanks to you," I reply, cracking a smile myself. "And how exactly did I end up in my own bed?"

Peeta shrugs. "I carried you."

"How adorable," interjects Haymitch, rolling his eyes. I notice that, for once, he isn't swaying in his seat. Or slurring his words. He must be sober.

"Haymitch, did you drink at all last night?"

Haymitch squints at me. "Well, I would have liked to, but your little friend here dumped everything down the sink. Apparently, in order to help _train _you, I need to be sober."

I flash Peeta a suspicious look. "_Train?"_

"Uh, yeah. I think that if you build up some extra strength and practice with some new weapons you'll have a better shot in the games."

"That's a total waste of time!" I find myself snapping, unable to hold back the truth from Peeta any longer. "Don't you get it? I'm dead. The reason I'm going back into the games is so President Sow can get rid of me. The Gamemakers will just arrange some sort of unfortunate death for me once I'm in the arena." I feel my pulse quicken at the thought. I want what I just said to be false so badly, but in my heart, I know I'm right.

"Please," Peeta whispers pleadingly. His deep blue eyes gaze into mine, wearing me down. I look over at Haymitch for help, but he just raises his eyebrows as if to say, _It's your life, sweetheart. _

I look back at Peeta and sigh. "Fine. If it makes you feel better."

"Katniss," says Peeta, his voice noticeably brighter, "this isn't for me. It's for you. And I'm pretty sure it will help."

"Alright, then," I give in. "So what's the plan?"

Peeta looks relieved as he begins chattering about a schedule he has in mind, and how he's going to contact Effie to get copies of past Hunger Games.

"What will that do?" I ask when he gets to this part.

Haymitch answers, "You can analyze past strategies used by Victors. Not to mention pay close attention to Johanna Mason."

"Why?"

Now it's Peeta's turn to answer. "She's the only female victor who can still have her name drawn. She's seventeen."

"And we have a feeling she'll be reaped," adds Haymitch, "to draw attention away from your name being pulled. It will look less suspicious if two past victors are reaped."

I nod, trying to remember Johanna. I'm pretty sure she was the one who won at age thirteen, by pretending to be a weakling. It turned out she was vicious, and particularly skilled with an axe. I shudder, imaging that axe of hers impaled in my head.

"Katniss?" Peeta gives my shoulder a little shake.

"Oh!" I snap back to reality. "Sorry. I was just thinking."

"So will you do it?" Peeta looks nervous, even though I'd already told him I would.

"Okay?" It comes out as more of a question, but if Peeta picks up on this, he doesn't show it.

Haymitch stands up and pats me on the back. "Well, we better get started."

**A/N - Hey guys! This chapter is kinda similar to CF, but the similarities will stop in the next chapter. Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The next three months are extremely hard. Not in the 'starving-because-we-can't-afford-to-by-food' way, but in the 'I've-done-so-much-physical-training-that-I-can-hardly-get-up-in-the-morning' way. As the reaping approaches, though, I begin to feel pretty confident.

I've mastered the art of camouflage (thanks to Peeta), am able to hit targets with a knife (well, better), and know Johanna's skill set inside and out. Of course, there's also the whole bow and arrow thing, not to mention all the new strategies I've picked up on from the tapes Effie sent. I can tell that Peeta, and even Haymitch, are very pleased.

The entire day before the Reaping was spent visiting the people I care about. Gale was first on my list, and this visit ended up being the hardest. Of course, the first thing he said after opening up the door was "Let's run away. Now."

I, of course, said nothing. I mean what was I supposed to say?

Gale took this is an invitation to continue. "Katniss, come on. Everyone knows you're going to be reaped tomorrow, so now's your last chance. Me and you – we can do it!"

Although I'm pretty sure Gale was right, that he and I _could_ make it, I knew the same couldn't be said for Prim and the others I would have wanted to take along. "Gale, I can't. What about my mother and Prim? And Hazelle and your siblings?"

"They can come!"

I sigh in frustration. "They'd die either way! Chances are, they won't survive living in the woods, and if we leave them behind, the Capitol will get them. Then there's Peeta and Haymitch."

"Peeta? Are you kidding me?"

I look up into Gale's dark eyes, and see the hatred he harbours for Peeta burning at the surface. "Why do you hate him so much?" I finally bring myself to ask.

Gale just shakes his head and gives me an awkward embrace. "Good luck tomorrow, Catnip."

And then the door slams shut.

I wasn't particularly inclined to go on with the visits, but I knew I'd regret it if I didn't. So, wiping the tears away from my eyes, I moved on to see Madge, a few of the people I know from the Hob, and lastly Haymitch. I need to talk to him.

When I knock on his door at four in the afternoon, it isn't Haymitch who answers. It's Peeta.

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. As soon as the door opens, Peeta pulls me into a hug, making me feel safe and protected, better than I'd felt in a while. All the stress and pain of the day fades to the back of my mind as I focus on the present.

"How was it?" Peeta asks eventually, as he leads me into the kitchen where Haymitch is seated.

I bite my lip. "Alright. But even if by some miracle I do make it out of these Games, I doubt Gale will speak to me again. He's angry at you," I motion towards Peeta, "and he's angry at me for caring about you." I sigh. "But he's still my best friend."

"Some best friend," declares Haymitch sarcastically. I flash him a look of annoyance.

"No, I get it. I understand," says Peeta comfortingly. Then he changes the subject. "Would you like something to eat?"

Since I'd been so busy that morning, I hadn't even remembered to eat. My stomach growls. "I'd love something."

Peeta smiles and holds up a huge shortbread cookie, decorated with a rainbow of coloured frosting. He'd shaped and decorated it to look like a mockingjay. A very brightly coloured mockingjay.

I gasp. It's beautiful. "You made this?"

"Frosted it," replies Peeta with a shrug.

"How can I eat it? It's too pretty!"

Peeta lets out a laugh, and Haymitch just says, "Cookies were made to eat."

I take the cookie in my hands and reluctantly bight into it. I have to say it's one of the best things I've ever tasted.

"Thank you," I manage to get out between bites.

* * *

That night after my mother and Prim go to bed, I sit downstairs in the kitchen. Before me is a plate of chocolate-chip cookies that I nibble on every now and then. I know sleep is impossible - knew it as soon as supper was over - so that's when I had called Peeta. He's to be here any minute now.

Just as I think this, there's a quiet knock on the front door. I jump up, tired of being alone, and fling it open.

"Hi," Peeta says, his wavy blonde hair swished innocently to the side.

I smile. "Come in."

The two of us walk up to my bedroom hand in hand. When I open the door and see that Prim had left her favourite stuffed animal tucked under my comforter, I feel a tear slide down my cheek. Peeta wipes it away with the back of his hand.

"I'm gonna miss her so much," I say softly, and Peeta pulls me into his arms.

As we stand there, I think about all that he's done for me from the very first time I laid eyes on him – the day he gave me those loaves of bread. Since then, he's protected me and saved my life on numerous occasions. Not only that, but he's saved my sanity. Peeta is more than I deserve. More than I will ever deserve. And that's when I realize I love him, _really_ love him.

I turn to look into those deep blue eyes, and I can't help myself. I kiss him.

Peeta seems surprised at first, probably because there aren't any cameras around or people to fool, but he gets over it quickly. The way he kisses me is gentle and caring, but there just isn't time for that. I knot my fingers in his hair and make the kiss more urgent. There's a stirring in my chest, like that time in the cave, and I know this kiss is real. I want it to go on forever.

But I don't have forever.

Peeta puts one hand on my cheek and the other on my hip, and I guide him towards my bed. We slowly lower ourselves into sitting positions, then further until we're both laying down. But we never stop kissing. We never let go of each other.

Soon, Peeta slowly draws back. Too soon. I lower my hands to his face and pull him close. We share one more soft, delicate kiss. But that's as far as we go.

"I love you," Peeta murmurs into my hair as we lay together afterwards.

I hold him closer. "I love you, too."

Peeta turns his head to look me in the eyes. His expression is heartbreaking. "Katniss, you don't have to say that. Just because we kissed..." He trails off.

I gaze back at him, trying to appear serious. But all I want to do is smile. Why? Because I've figured things out, at least in part. I love Peeta. I know now that I do. Gale is my best friend, so I love him the way you should love a best friend. Not romantic love, but love all the same. Peeta, though, is who I want to be with. Don't get me wrong – it's not just because of all that he's done for me. I love Peeta because of who he is, and how he loves me unconditionally. He makes me feel safe and at peace when no one else can, and above all, he makes me feel happy. Tonight, when I kissed him, there were sparks. I could feel them.

"Peeta," I say as seriously as I can," I mean it. I. Love. You."

That's when I break into the smile I'd tried so hard to contain. Then I say the words again, because saying them makes me feel free, and happier than I have in a while. "I love you, Peeta."

Peeta gazes at me for a moment before a grin spreads across his face. "You sure?" He asks uncertainly.

I giggle. "Yes."

As we lay like that, waiting for one of us to fall asleep, I wonder briefly why we didn't go any farther than a kiss. But the answer comes to me almost instantly – I'm just not ready. But I make a silent promise to myself that if I return from the games, I _will_ show Peeta just how much I love him.

We share one more kiss before I drift to sleep in Peeta's arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N - hey guys! Thank you so much to everyone who has favorited, reviewed, etc this story. The reviews always make my day :) I hope you like this next chapter, and please don't hesitate to review!**

**Chapter 4**

I feel so warm and happy the next morning that I temporarily forget about what day it is. When the realization hits me, I reach out for Peeta, but he isn't there. My eyes snap open and I hop out of bed and run downstairs.

"Hello?"

"Peeta?" I gasp into the receiver.

"Katniss?" It's definitely Peeta's voice. He sounds groggy.

"Sorry," I apologize quickly. It's seven thirty in the morning. "I just had to make sure you were okay."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Peeta asks.

"I – I don't know. You weren't there when I woke up, that's all."

"Oh! Sorry, I left a couple of hours ago so that your mom wouldn't find us together." He gives an uneasy laugh. "Who knows what she'd think about that."

As if on cue, my mother appears behind me, rubbing her eyes. "Yeah," I agree. "Um, Peeta? I've got to go. I'll come by to see you later."

"Alright." Now Peeta's voice is verging on broken. He's obviously thinking about the Reaping. "See you."

I hang up the phone and look at my mother. "Did you get any sleep?" I ask, reaching for her hand.

She gives me a sad smile. "I managed," she replies. "You?"

"Okay."

We turn around at the sound of sock feet padding against the floor. Prim is standing there, her eyes red and puffy, clutching Buttercup to her chest.

"Oh, Prim," I say, extending my arms towards her. She wraps her thin arms around me, dropping a hissing Buttercup in the process. My mother embraces the both of us.

It reminds me of last year, during their visit in the Justice Building before I boarded the train to the Capitol. My chest tightens when I remember that I'll be making that very same journey again today.

* * *

With about an hour until the Reaping, my mother and Prim reveal the dress I am to wear. It was an old dress of my mother's, just like last year, only a much prettier colour. Sea green. I'm happy that Cinna hadn't decided to dress me for this occasion.

"It's beautiful!" Cries Prim when I emerge from the bathroom. I risk a glance in the mirror, and smile. It looks nowhere near as good on me as Cinna's creations, but the simple fact that it belonged to my mother makes it one of the prettiest things I've ever worn.

"Thank you," I whisper.

After my hair is intricately braided by my mother, I leave the house to see Peeta. I knock on the door and he answers immediately. His eyes are slightly red, but I don't point it out.

"I just wanted to see you quickly before the Reaping," I explain, "but just quickly. You'll be my mentor along with Haymitch, so I'll be seeing you a lot. I need to spend the rest of my time with Prim."

Peeta nods. "Of course. But thanks for dropping by. When you get picked..." he trails off, looking both uncomfortable and upset.

"Oh," I say with a faint laugh, "so there are no more 'if's'."

"Well there's always the possibility you won't get picked," says Peeta, clearly flustered.

I flash him a reassuring smile. "It's better to be realistic." I lean in and kiss him quickly on the cheek before going back to my house next door.

* * *

My mother and Prim walk me to the Reaping, and when we're forced to part, Prim lets out a quiet sob. I give her a hug, whisper "I love you" in her ear, and kiss my mother on her salty cheek. Then I walk over to my roped off area.

Madge's father, the mayor of District 12, takes the stage and speaks of our history, the start of the Hunger Games, and so on, but I tune him out. Only when Effie has said her piece and is digging around for a girl's name, do I pay attention.

Her face falls upon unfolding the paper, and I know my fate is sealed.

"The female tribute is Katniss Everdeen," she announces in a slightly tremulous voice. I give Madge, who's standing next to me, a quick hug before walking up the steps to the stage.

There's a collective gasp from the onlookers, and I do my best to calm them. "I'll see you guys again soon!" I tell them as enthusiastically as possible. They give me the same gesture as last year, when I took Prim's place, and then I'm led from the stage. Peeta's hand is in mine before I even have a chance to look for him, and we're moved straight to the train.

"What about the visits?" I ask Effie. She gives me an apologetic look.

"Not allowed," she replies before walking down the hall and locking herself in her quarters.

Haymitch stumbles onto the train behind us. Peeta flashes him a look of annoyance. "Have you been drinking? I thought we talked about this."

Haymitch shrugs and says, "I bargained for a couple of beers last night. I needed them."

"Fine," snaps Peeta, "but that better be the last drink you have until Katniss gets out of the arena."

"Well that'll be a little too long for my taste. I'm not waiting for forever." I know it's Haymitch's drunk side talking, but his words still cut. I glare at him and stalk into my room, slamming the door behind me.

I hear them fighting outside, Haymitch and Peeta, but I try to pay no attention. I bury my face in the fluffy pillows on my bed and let the tears come.

And come they do. They run relentlessly down my cheeks, soaking the pillow and tasting salty in my mouth. The sobs come soon after, making me shake uncontrollably.

I miss Prim terribly. It's hard to imagine her fragile frame sitting in front of the television each night, watching as I'm attacked by mutts and the other tributes. She's already had to do it once.

Then there's Gale. Maybe I didn't leave his house on the best of terms, but I'd planned to rectify it during his visit. Now I will never have the chance to make things right. I know in my heart that Gale has forgiven me, as I have forgiven him, but what I'd give for just one more conversation with my best friend.

And what about Peeta? How will be be able to sit by and watch me die right in front of him, unreachable?

Now I'm not just crying for myself, but for Prim and Gale and Peeta. It feels as though I'm slipping, letting go of my only hold on sanity. But this would surely mean immediate death in the arena. I need to fight to come back to all those I love. So I grasp desperately at the bed sheets, willing myself to hold on.

There's a timid knock on my door, but I ignore it. It's going to be Effie or Haymitch or Peeta, two of whom I don't want to speak to. The other? I don't want him to see me like this, at my most vulnerable.

"Dinner!" comes Effie's shrill cry an hour or so later. By then I'd stopped crying and cleaned myself up a bit. Although I don't want to go outside and face them, I know I have no choice. I have to eat.

When I open my door, Peeta's there. He's sitting on the floor, picking at his finger nails.

"Peeta?"

"Oh. Hi Katniss," he stands up to face me.

"What were you doing?" I ask.

"You didn't answer when I knocked, so I decided to wait." He shrugs, and when I look at him like he's crazy, he adds, "It's not like I have anything better to do."

Dinner is lamb stew that I don't taste and some fancy bread I gag on. I ignore the dessert and go straight into the room where the television is. Effie and Peeta join me.

The Reapings are as painful to watch as ever. A large fifteen year old girl from District 1, a frail twelve year old from 3, a thin seventeen year old from 11. And of course, Johanna Mason, from 7. I watch her confidently stride up the steps onto the stage, rolling her eyes at the camera. You can tell she had expected it.

When the Capital Seal flashes and our screens go blank, Effie excuses herself for bed. That leaves me and Peeta.

We don't talk; don't kiss. Instead we walk straight to my room and climb into the bed. Peeta wraps his arms around me as usual and I fall into a deep sleep, occupied by horrid nightmares starring this year's tributes. Peeta wakes me up twice.

But the nightmares live on, even when I'm awake.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The next morning is spent in my room, ordering room service, staring into space, and breaking things. Peeta was still there when I woke up, but I had sent him away almost immediately. I needed to be alone. Being the person he is, Peeta just gave me an obviously forced smile and left.

I shovel another spoonful of hazelnut gelato into my mouth, savouring the rich taste. It's the third desert I've had this morning following a chocolate mousse and apple pie. Before that there was a silver platter piled with a sample of every breakfast food imaginable. I want to experience the best of the best before I die in the arena, and this is the finest way, I think, to do so.

All of a sudden I hear footsteps approaching my room. They stop in front of the door.

"Katniss?" Trills Effie while knocking loudly, "We're almost at the Capitol. You better get dressed and come on out."

I sigh and stand up, tossing the gelato bowl aside. The entire place is a mess. There's a growing pile of dirty dishes in the middle of the floor. Shards of glass and porcelain that used to resemble dainty plates and cups are scattered around the room. I can't help but notice the wrinkled articles of clothing hanging off a bed post, the curtain rod, the bureau; crumpled where they fell. Not to mention the ripped fabric strewn all over. Let's just say I hadn't been in the best mood that morning.

I walk into the bathroom and turn on the faucet, splashing my face with water. When I risk a glance in the mirror, I notice just how awful I look. My eyes appear empty and forlorn, and the bags beneath them are huge and purple. The colour has drained from my cheeks leaving me a pasty white. My lips have formed a hard line. All of these things taken together give me the appearance of a ghost.

Tearing my eyes away from the girl in the mirror, I let my hair down and brush through it roughly. I don't bother braiding it. I change into a grey tunic and comfy black pants before throwing open the door and walking out into the hallway.

The first person I see is Peeta. He's still at the breakfast table, flipping through the pages of a book. I see him look up immediately as I approach; watch him take in my appearance. Then he opens up his arms.

I fall into them without thinking. Trying to hold back tears, I burrow my face into Peeta's shirt and wrap my arms around his waist. He rubs my back comfortingly and kissed the top of my head. We stay like this until we hear someone clear their throat behind us.

"Yes?" Says Peeta irritably. It must be Haymitch. Peeta would never use that tone with Effie.

"Can you two get up and prepare yourselves for the grand exit?" Asks Haymitch gruffly. I look up at him, puzzled.

"What _grand exit_?" I demand.

Haymitch takes one look at my face and swears under his breath before answering. "Your exit from the train with Peeta. Everyone in the Capitol is heartbroken that the two of you are being split up, so you're getting more than your share of air-time. There's going to be people at the train station filming you two when you get off. And look at you! Effie isn't going to like this."

Just as I open my mouth to voice my thoughts on the matter, Effie enters the room. "What won't I like?" She enquires chirpily. Someone's in a good mood.

"What are you so happy about?" says Peeta. There's an obvious edge to his voice.

"Oh, just the fact that next year I'm being promoted to District 9!" she squeals, rushing forwards to embrace both me and Peeta. But she stops short a couple of feet away from us, a scowl replacing the smile on her face.

"I had a bad night," I explain with a shrug of my shoulders.

This is clearly not a good enough explanation for Effie. She throws her arms down at her sides and lets out a piercing scream. "Katniss! How could you do this to me? They'll immediately revoke my promotion when the Capitol sees you like this!" Now she's muttering obscenities and taking hold of my wrist. "Come on. I have some make-up in my room that you can borrow." I hesitate, and she pulls harder. "Hurry! We only have fifteen minutes!"

As I'm being hauled from the room, I risk a glance over my shoulder. Peeta is smiling faintly, and Haymitch is laughing.

I'm glad they find my current predicament so hilarious.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later I'm standing at a window, waving to citizens of the Capitol as the train begins to slow. It's amazing the difference a ton of face powder, some shimmery eye shadow and a tad of lip gloss can make. I now appear sweet and girly, but my expression says otherwise. I'm Katniss Everdeen, lethal, dangerous, and ready to blow my competition out of the water.

Now Peeta's at my side, a smile plastered on his face. I wink at the onlookers and pull Peeta into a passionate kiss just as the train skids to a stop. Haymitch comes up behind us and pulls us apart good-naturedly. Then we're walking towards the doors.

Out on the platform, I can hear the screams of adoration and see the excited faces of our fans. Most of them don't wear excitement well – their wacky makeup and surgically enhanced features cause them to appear frightening, not joyful. A small group in the front is holding up a bunch of red roses – the symbol of love. I can tell they brought them to cheer on my relationship with Peeta.

But to me, they are the symbol of President Snow. The symbol of death.

After another heated kiss with Peeta, we're led from the platform and into an armoured vehicle that takes me to the Remake Centre. Venia, Octavia and Flavius are all waiting for me in my room.

"Katniss!" they cry in unison when I walk in. I just have enough time to smile before I'm surrounded. Octavia is crying quietly and getting her tears all over my cheek, while Venia and Flavius are petting me and stroking my hair affectionately. I push them away.

"I've missed you guys," I say, and this brings on a fresh round of tears from Octavia. Flavius sniffles.

"I-I g-g-guess we should f-fix you up th-then," stammers Venia. I can tell she's doing her best to stay strong, but her efforts are failing. I nod and follow the three of them into the centre of the room.

The next three hours seem to drag on forever. At least the pain from all the plucking distracts me from my awful situation. It's all I can do not to cry out each time Octavia rips another strip of hair from my leg. But when it's finally over, I find myself feeling more hopeless and lost than ever.

"Alright then," declares Venia as she hands me a soft purple robe, "we'll be leaving now. It's time for Cinna to work his magic."

I thank my prep team and hug each of them in turn. Then they leave the room in tears.

I sink down into a plush chair in the sitting area and stare out the massive window. I remember sitting in that exact same spot while I spoke with Cinna for the first time. It seems like ages before I turn to glance over my shoulder and see him sitting, still as a statue, on the couch next to me.

"Cinna!" I exclaim, jumping up and throwing my arms around him. He laughs and squeezes me tightly. "How long have you been here?"

"Half an hour," replies Cinna as I adjust my robe and seat myself next to him. "You seemed as if in a trance, and I didn't want to pull you out of it. So I decided to sit here and enjoy your company. What were you thinking about, anyways?"

"Hmm." I think back to a few moments ago when I was presumably alone. I remember closing my eyes and putting myself back in District 12 on Christmas Eve. It had been one of the most joyful nights of my life since my father's death, full of carolling, enjoying hot chocolate by the fire and telling stories. Gale and his family had come over for dinner and left around eight to put the younger children to sleep. That was when Peeta had come over. We had been on friendly terms since the Victory Tour, and saw each other often. I'd asked him the day before to come and spend the evening with me, and he'd happily agreed. When my mother and Prim went to bed, Peeta and I held each other in front of the fireplace, warding off all the horrific memories of the past year. I had fallen asleep in his arms, only to have awoken the next morning in my own bed.

I'm drawn back to the present by the pressure of Cinna's arm as it's placed around my shoulders. That's when I realize I'm trembling. Biting my lip to prevent crying out in pain and sorrow, I look up at Cinna. He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't need to. I let myself rest my head on his chest and look out the window overlooking the Capitol. All it does is make me feel homesick.

"Come look at this," Cinna says gently as he stands up, pulling me with him. He covers my eyes with his hands and leads me a few steps to the left. When they're lifted and I can see again, my gaze falls on the red satin dress before me. It's stunning.

I gasp and slowly lift the dress from the table. Cinna unties my robe and helps slip it over my head.

"Take a look, girl on fire," he whispers. I'm filled with anticipation as I make my way towards the full length mirror in the bathroom.

I don't believe what I see. The makeup applied by my prep team is dramatic and alluring. My eyes are smouldering and rimmed with black, while my lips are a deep red. I lower my gaze to my dress and try to take in every little detail. It's a deep, striking red like my lip stick, and made from a satiny material. It features a single strap starting on my left and making its way across my chest and over my right shoulder. I no longer appear innocent and girly and sweet. Instead, I'm seductive and deadly. No one will be able to miss me in this dress. It makes a very clear statement – I am stunning, I am strong, and I will not go down without a fight.

"What do you think?" Enquires Cinna as he comes to a stop next to me.

"It's," I'm at a loss of words. "It-It's incredible. But there's only one problem."

"And what's that?"

I hate to ruin the moment by voicing the one flaw with my dress, but I don't have a choice. "How does this dress represent coal mining?" _Really_, I think to myself, _how could Cinna have overlooked this incredibly important detail?_

Cinna smiles at me coyly and disappears from the bathroom. He returns a few seconds later with a little pot and feathery white brush.

"Stretch out your arms," he orders, and I do. Cinna dips the white bristles of the brush into the pot and I watch them come out dark and dusty. He sweeps the powder over my arms, placing an extra bit on my chest. Then he puts his fingers alone into the pot and smears some of the stuff over my cheeks and around my eyes.

"Look," instructs Cinna and he turns me towards the mirror.

The powder is coal dust. I think back to a few years ago when the tributes of 12 had been stark naked and covered in the stuff. It had looked utterly revolting. But the dust has the opposite effect on me. It compliments my previous look, making everything about me seem sexier. Now my appearance is not only appealing and attractive, but powerful and captivating. It's hard to believe someone from District 12 could ever pull this off.

"What happened to innocent?" I ask jokingly, twirling before the mirror. The dress does not move. Instead, it clings to my body; to every curve. The bottom is above my knees. Under normal circumstances, it would make me feel uncomfortable and self-conscious. But now know. My legs are toned from all the training and they appear long and lean when I slip into the black, strappy heels Cinna hands to me. I feel much older and more mature. I'm suddenly overcome by the feeling that I can handle whatever's coming next. That's how confidant this outfit has made me feel.

Cinna laughs. "You don't need to convince anyone of anything. You're no longer that young girl you were last year when you pulled out those berries. Now you can be who you really are, and that's a force to be reckoned with."

I reach out for Cinna's hand and we walk towards the door together. I'm ready to wow the crowd. I'm ready to see President Snow.

I'm ready to do this.

**A/N - hey everybody! Sorry I took so long to update (stupid school). Anyways, I hope you liked the chapter! Thanks for reading, and please review! (Also, thank you to everyone who has left the wonderful reviews!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N - hey everyone! Wow, I can't believe it's been 2 weeks since I last updated this story. I try to keep the updates coming faster, but life (and school) are always in the way. So since you guys had to wait so long, I made this chapter a bit longer than the other ones. I hope you like it! Don't forget to review!**

**Chapter 6**

"Why?" I snarl at Haymitch as we stand together in the elevator. Haymitch had come to my room in the Remake Center to fetch me for the opening ceremonies a few minutes ago, and as we'd stepped into the elevator he'd told me I wasn't allowed to see Peeta until later that evening.

Haymitch sighs heavily. "Because he's too much of a distraction. You need to stay focussed on the task at hand – blowing your competition out of the water."

I narrow my eyes at Hatymitch just as the doors slide open. "Fine," I snap, marching over to my chariot at the far side of the huge room. Haymitch is smart enough not to follow.

I stand like that, fuming, for a few minutes. Under normal circumstances, it would have taken a lot more than "_Sorry, but you can't see Peeta for a few hours"_ to anger me so. But this isn't normal circumstances. The games have really messed with my head. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I turn to one of the horses that will pull my chariot and begin to stroke his mane. He neighs softly, and I smile.

"You looked pretty angry there." The voice startles me and I spin around. Johanna Mason is leaning up against my chariot and raking her fingers through her tousled hair. I suppress a giggle when my eyes fall on her costume. Johanna is an axe.

"I was," I say, looking her right in her dark brown eyes. They reflect the lights overhead, giving their entire appearance a deadly glint.

Johanna straightens her headpiece – the blade. Only it isn't sharp, of course. Her chestnut hair spills out the front and over her eyes. She comes across casual; almost bored. It's easy to tell that she's received the same instructions as me. To act above the crowd.

"So you're still on fire, huh?" Johanna looks me up and down. "It's not a bad look for you, actually. You can definitely work the sexy angle. What happened to the sweet little girl you were last year?"

"She grew up," I answer flatly. And it's the truth, too. I'm not the same person I was before my life was torn apart and changed forever by the games.

Johanna picks at the skin around her thumbnail and bites a little piece off. "I see."

"I like your costume," I comment, changing the subject. "It's..." I trail off, but Johanna finishes for me.

"Perfect? Yeah, I know. My stylist thought that I should remind everyone of my...talent." Johanna smirks, and I feel myself begin to tremble slightly. The opening music starts to blare around our holding place, and the District One chariot lurches forwards.

"Well, I better get going. Good luck out there." Johanna turns around and strolls confidently over to her chariot.

Good luck? Yeah right. The entire time we were talking, she was probably contemplating how best to kill me. I picture her in the arena, that same smirk plastered on her face, as she holds up the axe which will deliver the blow that ends my life.

"Katniss?" I here Cinna say. I compose myself and turn to face him.

"When did you get here?" I ask while he helps me into my chariot.

"A couple of minutes ago." Now he's positioning one of my legs over the other and patting down my stick-straight hair. "What were you and Johanna talking about?"

I shrug. "Nothing, really." I look straight ahead and watch as District Four approaches the massive doors. Then I think of something. "Cinna, do you think Johanna would make a good ally?"

"I'm not sure if I would trust her, but who knows? It's just that whenever I see her, I think about how mercilessly she killed all those tributes with her axe." Cinna walks around so that he's standing in front of me, and cocks his head to the side.

"How do I look?" I ask with an anxious smile. Now that there are only a couple of districts left to go, the nerves have really started to set in.

Cinna laughs, and it isn't hard to tell that I look better than he could ever have imagined. "Incredible. Stunning." District Eleven's chariot rolls forwards and Cinna's expression becomes solemn. "Remember, you're above it all. Don't smile, don't wave. Don't look anyone in the eyes." A small smile flickers across his face. "Except for President Snow."

I nod, and my chariot starts to move. I manage to take a deep breath before I'm blinded by the spotlights. The audience is screaming so loudly that it sounds like one continuous roar. I see a close-up of myself on one of the massive televisions screens. Everyone, even the other tributes, are gawking at me.

Instinct takes over and I reach out for the comfort of Peeta's hand. That's when I remember he isn't there. It's just me. For a moment, I think I might fall out of the chariot, but I'm able to steady myself. Biting my lip, I find a spot high up in the sky and focus on it.

"Katniss!"

"District Twelve!"

These are a couple of the phrases I hear being chanted. I can see people waving, blowing me kisses, even throwing roses in my direction, but I don't acknowledge any of it. I lock my gaze on the tiny star I'd chosen a few moments ago and keep it there.

When a rose falls right into my lap, I look down briefly. It's blood red. I manage to keep my face expressionless while tossing the rose over the side of my chariot and watching as it plummets to the ground.

For the next twenty minutes I sit still as a statue, pondering people's reaction to my costume. I wonder what Gale will think about it. And what about my mother and Prim? Prim will like it, but I doubt my mother will. She must think of me as too young to dress like this. But what does it matter, really? I'm just going to die.

Peeta. He must love it. The dress, makeup and coal dust taken together give me an aura of superiority and power. Not to mention how alluring and sexy it makes me look. Yes, he'll definitely be fond of it.

At last our procession begins to enter the City Circle. I mentally prepare myself for what is to come next, and then my chariot slows to a stop. Everyone's does. I risk a quick look in the direction of every chariot, taking in the appearance of each tribute. All girls. Some, like Johanna, have hard, unreadable expressions. They're the strong ones. Then there are the wispy little twelve, thirteen and fourteen year olds. One particularly small girl, the one from eight, has tears running down her cheeks.

I hate the Capitol. I hate them for everything they've done to me and my family in the past, and for everything they will do in the future. Killing all these little girls just makes me feel like I`m about to boil over. But I can`t show it.

President Snow walks out onto the balcony of his mansion and begins the official welcome. I can see him glancing in the direction of each tribute, and I take a steady breath. When his gaze locks on me, I raise my eyebrows and allow a confidant smirk to come to my lips. Snow narrows his eyes slightly, and I glare at him fiercely. Everything about my expression, my outfit, and the way the crowd goes wild for me speaks to President Snow. He continues looking at me as I sit up straighter and mouth the words I`ve wanted to say all night.

_Bring it on._

_

* * *

_

By the time my chariot rolls into the training center, my heart is pounding against my ribs. I can`t believe it. I`ve just publicly challenged President Snow. No one but him could have seen, since I noticed the cameras secured on Johanna at the time. Briefly, I worry about the fallout for my family, but then I realize that there'd need to be a reason for their deaths. And President Snow wouldn't want to reveal the power my words had over him. This is when I allow general elation to set in.

I look around and spot Cinna, followed by Venia, Octavia, and Flavius, approaching. My prep team prattles on about how stunning I looked and how the natural lighting complimented my makeup perfectly. But I tune them out and take Cinna`s outstretched hand. He raises his eyebrows questioningly.

I nod and step out of the chariot. "I showed him," I whisper in Cinna's ear.

He grins widely and places his hands on my shoulders. "You looked fantastic out there, Katniss. And there's someone here who wants to give you his opinion." Cinna spins me around so that I'm facing my chariot again, and the figure propped up against it.

"Peeta!" I squeal, throwing my arms around his neck. He presses his lips firmly against the top of my head and holds me tightly.

"You looked incredible out there." I look up into Peeta's face, taking in his gorgeous blue eyes, pink cheeks, and the strands of blonde hair that fall over his forehead. I smile, but notice his lips form a hard line. His expression is a combination of solemnity and rage.

"Peeta?" I cup my hands around his cheeks and stare at him concernedly.

He shakes his head and I lower my hands. Now his hold on me is uncomfortably tight, and his eyes are sparkling dangerously.

"I'll kill them," he mutters. "All of them. If you die in that arena..."

His hold has become suffocating, and I pull away. "Peeta, I thought we've been through this already. You need to be prepared to say good bye to me, because it isn't likely I'll be coming back."

Peeta doesn't seem to hear what I'm saying. His hands are shaking, and the murderous expression on his face has begun to scare me. This isn't my Peeta. My Peeta could never look this terrifying. I grasp his hands in mine and force him to look at me.

"Listen to me. Peeta, if I die, you can't do anything impulsive or rash," I say.

He shakes his head violently. "I'll make them pay, I swear I will."

"Look at me!" I cry, and he does. "No matter what happens, you can't retaliate! Promise me you won't. I need you to live, okay? You need to stay alive for me, so that you can make sure my mother and Prim are alright. Can you do that?" Peeta's face shows conflicted emotions and he looks down at our clasped hands. "Please, Peeta! Don't do anything reckless. It will only hurt you. Please don't," I plead, feeling hysteria rising in my chest.

When Peeta finally finds my teary eyes with his own and we lock gazes, he takes a breath. "Alright. I won't do anything stupid. But I can't promise that I'll just stand back and do nothing in the case of a rebellion."

For the first time since the announcement of the Quarter Quell a few months ago, I allow myself to think about the possibility of rebellion. Of course I wouldn't be alive to witness it, but I may turn out more useful dead. I could be some sort of martyr for the cause, and my face could be painted on banners and posters. _I could be the face of the rebellion_. This thought comforts me a little, because it makes my death seem less futile.

But as soon as I imagine Peeta fighting in the war, my heart drops. He'd be one of the first to die, no doubt. Prim and my mother, too. The Capitol already hates everyone who's close to me, so if rebellion broke out their chances of survival would be slim.

I don't bother telling Peeta this, though, because I'm tired of arguing. I'll try to talk some sense into him tomorrow when we both feel better. So I say, "Fine."

The elation I'd left just moments ago has left me completely, and in its place is numbness. It's as though my body has realized that everything going on in my life is now beyond my control and there's no point in doing anything. No point in feeling anything. All I _really_ feel is a dull aching sensation whenever my mind brings up Peeta, Prim, my mother, or Gale.

"Are you ready to go?" Cinna's back, tapping me lightly on my shoulder. Somewhere in my brain, I know that it's time for me to go up to District Twelve's floor in the training centre, where we'll eat and watch a recap of the opening ceremonies. I remember that much from last year. Knowing that I don't have the power to say something like _"Sorry, but I'd rather not,"_ I nod and follow Peeta and Cinna towards the elevator.

Silence. The entire elevator ride and all through dinner, I'm smothered by the absolute silence. Even Peeta and Effie don't make an attempt to break it. After just one bowl of soup and a couple of buttered rolls, I've had enough.

"I'm going back to my room," I announce to everyone at the table. "You can call me when the recap comes on."

I don't wait for a response. Instead, I get up and make my way to my quarters without so much as a backwards glance. No one, not even Peeta, calls my name.

My room this year is identical to the one I had last year. After taking a shaky breath to compose myself, I walk into the bathroom, strip down, and step into the shower. I'm familiar with all the different controls and buttons because of my past encounters with them, so the whole experience is quite enjoyable. I even press the button for flower petals and inhale their sweet smell as they fall to the ground.

After drying off, I braid my wet hair and wander back into my room with a towel wrapped around my body. I notice that a pair of fuzzy pyjamas and a silken robe have been laid out on my bed, so I change into them quickly.

Just as I'm about to crawl under the covers, I hear a timid knock on my door. "Katniss?" says Peeta, "The recap is on. Come watch with us."

Somehow I manage to straighten up and meet Peeta in the hallway despite the fact that the last thing in the entire world I want to do right now is watch myself in the opening ceremonies. We settle down on the couch together, my head in Peeta's lap, his hands fiddling with my hair. Haymitch, Effie and Cinna join us just as the Capitol seal flashes on our screen and music begins to blare.

The camera starts off on the Tribute from One, a gorgeous fifteen year old girl. She's tall, with the longest legs I've ever seen, and her dark brown hair falls in a curtain around her face. I can honestly say that no tribute has ever worn "naked" so well. Her exposed skin is coated in a layer of shimmery silver dust. Around her neck is a pearl necklace with a large sapphire pendant dangling from the centre, and on her wrist is a collection of dazzling gold bangles. Makes sense. District One produces luxury goods for the Capitol.

"Wow," remarks Haymitch. "Someone's going to get a hell of a lot of sponsors."

All of a sudden I feel sick. From the moment I first saw this girl, there was something about her, something that I just couldn't put my finger on. But now I know what it is.

The girl from District One bears a striking resemblance to Glimmer.

Peeta seems to catch on at the same time I do. "What's her last name?" He asks casually, turning to Effie.

Effie flips open the program on her lap. "Her name is Star Skye," she replies. "Wait a second – _Skye._ Wasn't that the last name of the girl you killed with the tracker jackers last year, Katniss?"

I gulp as the realization hits me. "She's Glimmer's little sister."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - Hey guys! SOOO sorry that it took a while to update. Life is pretty hectic right now, and it looks like it's gonna stay that way for the next month. On top of that, I've joined NaNoWriMo, so any updates for this story will probably take a while. Sorry! But I PROMISE I won't completely stop writing it, because I really do like where it's going. Thank you so much for all the awesome reviews - they really do make my day! Anyways, not a lot happens in this chapter, but i thought it was still important to the story for it to be put in. Very Katniss/Peeta-y. I hope you like it, and please review!**

**Chapter 7**

I don't pay much attention to the other tributes. All I can think of is Glimmer; how I killed her. And now her sister is being thrown into the arena along with me. It doesn't feel great knowing that I already have an enemy.

I notice Haymitch staring at me intently, and squint at him. "What?"

"Oh, nothing really," replies Haymitch. "I was just wondering how much of a threat this Star girl poses to you."

I shake the comment off, looking back at the television.

When my chariot finally makes an appearance, I realize for the first time how incredible Cinna really made me look. Yeah, I knew that my costume would be stunning, but it's just – I don't know. Beyond anything I'd have hoped for, I guess. I feel Peeta's hands go still in my hair as he watches. Any chatter that had been going on between the adults in the room had stopped completely. All that I hear are the screams of adoration coming from the television set.

I look up at Peeta and notice that he's staring intently at the girl in the chariot. Me. His expression is a mixture of amazement, admiration, and worry. I hate the thought of him worrying about me before I'm even gone, and reach out for one of his hands, taking it in my own and rubbing my thumb back and forth across the top. He manages to tear his eyes away from the program to smile at me. "You look incredible, Katniss," he murmurs, and I smile. I've heard people say the same thing before, but never have the words sounded more sincere.

By the time the chariots have filled the City Circle, my heart is racing. What part, if any, will they show of my communication with the President? Probably none, but I still feel slightly on edge. Sure enough, the cameras are focussed on Johanna for most of President Snow's speech. I catch glimpses of the other tributes as well, but never myself. Anything they caught on film having something to do with me has been edited out.

"That's strange," comments Effie. "You're the star of the show. Why didn't they give you some air time?"

I look over at Cinna, the only one other than me who knows the answer. He nods his head as if to say, _"Just tell them. Let them know how strong you really are."_ And I want to tell, too. The only thing that worries me is how Peeta might react. But I guess he deserves to know.

"I did something that could be categorized as rather rebellious," I explain simply. Haymitch lets out a throaty laugh, and mutters something under his breath that sounds like _"What else is new?"_

Effie looks uneasy as she asks me just what I did that was so rebellious. I risk a glance at Peeta, who's staring at me expressionlessly. I can't turn back now.

"When Snow was making his speech, he looked at all the tributes in turn. When he got to me, I smiled and told him to bring it on. He didn't look all that pleased."

Effie lets out something like a yelp and drops her head into her hands. I can't tell if this is because she's worried that I just sealed my fate or because it might have a negative impact on her being promoted to District 9. Either way, I'm beyond caring. I mean, why have regrets when you'll be dead within the week?

"Katniss," Peeta says slowly, his voice wavering slightly, "Why exactly did you feel the need to do that? Just explain it to me, please. Because if you had any chance of coming back alive before, you've lost it."

I sigh loud enough to rouse Effie from the state she's in. She's crying silently, and each tear that rolls down her cheek brings a clump of make-up with it. "Because I _never_ had a chance of coming back home, Peeta!" I cry, throwing myself off his lap. "Because I wanted Snow to know that even if I die in that arena, the spark I ignited won't. I know that there's a strong chance of a rebellion, because if there wasn't Snow wouldn't have gone through all this trouble to get rid of me. I'll probably be more useful dead, anyways. I could be the symbolic head of the rebellion or something like that."

To my immense relief, Cinna stands up and clears his throat, taking the spotlight off me. "Maybe we should discuss this on the roof," he says and we all oblige, knowing why he really wants to go up to the roof. He has to tell us something that the Capitol doesn't want us to know.

"I do need some fresh air," Peeta murmurs as we exit the room.

Up on the roof, between the whistling wind and all those chimes, it's hard to hear Cinna talk when he's right next to me.

Perfect.

"I'm pretty sure there could already be rebellion among a few of the districts, like four," he offers when we've all arranged ourselves into a tight huddle formation. My jaw drops, and I can see the shock in Peeta's eyes; the excitement in Haymitch's. Effie looks as though she's been punched in the gut, all doubled over like she is.

"H-how could you know?" I manage to sputter.

"Little hints," he replies. "I've been pretty famous since you won last year, so I get invited to all the important parties. I've gone to a couple, too. With Octavia, Venia and Flavius. Anyways, there's been no seafood for the past two months. I've been told there's awful weather there, but two months? Yeah, right. I also haven't been able to get my hands on much fabric from nine. Virtually none, actually. Not to mention the sudden shortage in all those fancy electronics from three. I wonder why." Cinna shakes his head. "It all points to one thing – there have been uprisings, and delivering seafood to the Capitol is the least of Snow's problems."

Haymitch doesn't look totally convinced, though. "Are you sure? I mean, I don't know if that's enough to go on." I can tell that he must be somewhat sober, because his logic makes sense.

I nod in agreement. "Have you heard anything else?" My question is directed towards Cinna, who furrows his brow in thought.

"Well there was this one other thing," he begins, and we all lean in closer to hear the juicy details. "A couple of weeks ago I went to some party in honour of the Quell. President Snow and some of his people were there to makes speeches, and all the prep teams and stylists were invited."

Sounds like a hoot.

"I was grabbing another drink later in the night," he continues, "and I noticed two official looking people talking in hushed voices in the corner. I managed to hear a couple snippets of their conversation while I poured the wine. One of the men said something along the lines of _"The situation in four has been contained"_, and then the other asked about nine. His answer was a shake of the head."

I take a sharp inhalation of breath as I process what I've just been told. An uprising, or at least a strong possibility of one, in a few of the districts. And uprisings almost always lead to rebellion. I take a moment to relish in the fact that it was _me, my_ actions that caused this. All of it. If I was to die, it would just add fuel to the fire.

"It's perfect," I say breathily. "If I die now, the rebellion will just be strengthened. The rebels will have more incentive to take down the Capitol." Now I'm full on grinning, feeling happy and empowered. Kind of like when I challenged President Snow. "Everything's just backfiring and blowing up in his face!"

There's a short silence where we all think about what's been said. I'm excited, and it appears that Haymitch is too. Effie looks torn between horror, confusion, and fright. It makes sense, too, since she's from the Capitol. Rebellion would ruin everything in her perfect little world. I don't even need to look at Peeta to know what he's feeling.

"Are you kidding me?" He shouts, and Haymitch slaps his back, telling him to keep it down. Peeta lowers the volume of his voice, but not the intensity. "So now it's perfectly fine that Katniss is going to die? Because she's_ taking one for the team_? Oh, my God, do you people hear yourself?" Peeta throws his arms into the air and stalks away from our little huddle. He returns a moment later, his cheeks flushed in anger. "Katniss. Can't. Die. We are going to do something, _anything_, to save her. Make me your freakin' martyr! How about that? Devise some kind of crazy plan to rescue her from the arena and leave me as a diversion. I can bait the trap."

"No!" I find myself crying. "You're not going to die for me, Peeta. Just let everything work itself out. Leave me in that arena, and when I die, don't freak out. Just fight harder to take the Capitol down, or even better, don't fight at all! Lead the rebellion for all I care. But don't go out and get yourself killed!"

"If you die, I'll have no reason to live, anyways," counters Peeta. His voice has an edge of hysteria to it, and I can tell everyone's beginning to worry. No one has ever seen Peeta like this before.

"Yes, you will. You need to stay alive for _me,"_ I plead. "Stay alive, protect my mother and Prim, and keep away from danger. That is the only thing I want at this point. Please, Peeta."

Peeta shakes his head. "No," he says firmly. "I'll make them pay for your death. I'll do everything in my power to destroy the Capitol, and if I die in the process, all the better. I won't have to live with the pain of losing you."

I take a breath and try to compose myself, but when I open my mouth I find myself screaming "Coward! You're a coward, Peeta!" I feel someone grasp me around the waist and start to pull me towards the door, but I continue to scream. I kick and flail my arms frantically, shouting at Peeta and the Capitol and whoever is holding me down. But too soon, there's a hand over my mouth and I'm being yanked into the training centre.

"Katniss, you need to calm down," says Cinna from behind me. So it was Cinna. I want to be angry with him for dragging me inside, but it's near impossible to be angry with Cinna.

"No," I cry. Tears begin to pool in my eyes, and when Cinna lets me go, I fall to the floor in a heap. Now I'm making these terrible choking noises, a sure sign that I'm about to start sobbing.

Cinna sinks down next to me and brushes some stray strands of hair from my face. I start to full on sob, and he just sits there and rubs my back. No one interrupts us. No one comes back inside.

After about ten minutes, when I feel as though I've cried myself out, Cinna helps me up and walks me back to my room. I Immediately crawl under the covers, pulling them up to my neck. Cinna perches himself on the corner of my bed and looks at me questioningly.

"Stay," I whisper. "Don't go until I fall asleep."

Cinna nods and I bury my face in my pillow. I feel safe with him watching over me. It reminds me of what my father used to do when me or Prim had a nightmare. He'd always stay with us, rubbing our backs and whispering comforting words until we were asleep again. I miss that.

When I open my eyes again it's still dark. At first I'm confused as to what woke me up, because I don't remember having any nightmares. I sit up and notice a figure sitting on the edge of my bed, but it isn't Cinna.

It's Peeta.

"Katniss?" Peeta looks over his shoulder at me, obviously having heard me sit up. "What's wrong? You weren't screaming."

I ignore his question, responding instead with one of my own. "What are you doing here, Peeta?"

He looks slightly taken aback. "I thought this was what he did. You know, lie together to ward off the nightmares."

"Then why aren't you in the bed?"

"I just got here and I didn't want to wake you up. I'm not all that tired, either. But I guess you weren't sleeping that heavily, if me sitting down on your bed was enough to wake you up."

I nod, showing him that I understand. Part of me wants to reach out for the comfort of his arms; to pull him into bed with me like usual. But another part is still angry with him for threatening suicide if I die.

As usual, angry wins out, and I'm fighting with Peeta for the third time that evening.

"Peeta," I begin calmly, "I don't want you to die for me. I don't want you to die _because_ of me. That's my last wish. I need you to survive this, to move on, and to be happy again. It might take time and effort, but it's what I want for you. Please."

Peeta gives me a pained expression that I can only just barely make out in the dark and says, "You know I'd do anything for you, but-"

I feel unwanted tears begin to blur my vision as I cry, "Then do this for me!"

"You have to understand that you're the only person in my life that I really, truly love. Without you, I don't have anyone left. I'll be completely alone. What kind of life is that, Katniss? Is that the kind of life you want for me?"

I don't reply right away because what he just said really makes me think. I imagine a world without Peeta. A world where no one is there each night to hold me and tell me that the nightmares aren't real. It isn't a world that I want to live in, and for the first time, I _do _understand.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I get it, I do. But I need you to try for me. Just _try_ to move on with your life. I need you to look out for Prim and my mother. And if there happens to be a full scale rebellion, go ahead and take the Capitol down. Just do your best not to get yourself killed."

Peeta stands up and walks over to me. "How about this. If you die, I won't kill myself or get myself killed purpously. I'll watch out for your family, too. But if there's a rebellion, I'm going to fight. _Not _to get myself killed, but to avenge your death and seek justice."

I don't even need to think it over. "Okay. That'll work." It feels as though a tremendous weight has been lifted off my shoulders, now that I know Peeta won't be looking to get himself killed.

I see a small smile play across Peeta's lips and I reach out for him. He lays down alongside me, pulling me into his arms. "I love you," I murmur into his chest. He kisses the top of my head.

"I love you too," he replies.

We lay like that for what seems like an hour before I look up to see Peeta's eyes wide open, just staring at the ceiling.

"I can't sleep," I say simply, sounding childish even to myself.

Peeta laughs quietly. "I know. I could sense it."

I push myself up into a sitting position and stretch. "Do you want to go up to the roof?"

"I'd love to."

In less than five minutes we're standing on the roof, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. It isn't exactly cold, but there's a chilly breeze that sends shivers down my spine.

"What are you thinking about?" Asks Peeta as he wraps his arms around me.

I shrug. "Training. And allies."

Peeta smiles sadly. "How about I give you something else to think about?"

I turn to him, about to ask just what he means, when his warm lips have fallen upon my own. I immediately lose my train of thought and focus all my attention on the boy before me. The boy with the bread.

The boy I love.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N - Hey everyone! Thank you so much for bearing with me these past few months and being so patient as life got in the way of my writing. I can't believe that it's been more than four months since I last updated and I'm soooo sorry! Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait, and I promise to update much more frequently since I'm back in my "zone" :P. Thanks for reading and for all the wonderful reviews! 3 **

**Chapter 8**

I wake up the next morning with my head in Peeta's lap. It's early, only eight o'clock, and he's still asleep. I stand up slowly and look around our surroundings. We're in the little living room section of the District 12 floor, the area with the television and fireplace. Upon closer inspection I notice dim little embers in the fireplace under a pile of ash. Then it all comes back to me.

After spending an hour kissing and holding each other on the roof Peeta and I had moved inside where it was warm. I remember snuggling with him in my bed and trying to fall asleep again, but failing miserably. Peeta, who doesn't seem to sleep anymore, had led me to the living room where he started a quaint little fire and cuddled with me on the couch. This was how we were when I must have fallen asleep.

As I leave the room, I risk a quick glance back at Peeta. His expression is one of peace and contentment, and I say a silent thank you for having seen him like that one more time. He is definitely at his most desirable when he isn't thinking of ways to kill himself.

Back in my quarters, I discover a simple crimson sweat suit placed on my unmade bed.

My outfit for training.

I take it with me into the bathroom and change. The fabric is soft and comfortable, and the little sweater that goes with it is pleasantly warm. After brushing my teeth, I look in the mirror and can't suppress a smile. The suit hugs my curves making me look somewhat sexy (or as sexy as someone in a tight-fitting sweat suit can look), and the deep red colour gives me an aura of power and superiority. It also makes me appear dangerous. Still grinning widely, I pull my hair back into a high, tight ponytail and apply a tiny bit of the mascara Effie left in a makeup bag on the counter. (Her "I feel bad for you" gift when I was reaped for a second time.) Sure, I'm not really one for makeup, but I thought a touch of mascara would emphasize the determination in my eyes, or at least draw attention to it.

As I brush my teeth, I hear a loud knock on my door. "Katniss?" chirps Effie. "Are you ready for breakfast? You have to go down for training in less than an hour."

"Coming," I reply, keeping my voice light and breezy. I feel a little bad for sending Effie into a state last night, and want to show her that I'm sorry without actually saying it.

I allow myself one more look in the mirror before confidently striding out of the room and into the hallway where Effie waits. Her eyes are a little puffy from all the crying she must have done, but other than that she looks perfectly fine. Just like her normal happy-go-lucky self.

"What do you think of the outfit?" Effie asks me as we walk towards the breakfast buffet together. Her voice has an edge of worry to it.

"Love it," I answer. But since I feel like I owe Effie (and I really hate owing people), I decide to elaborate. "The colour is so beautiful; the way it fits is comfortable _and_ appealing. It really makes me look like a force to be reckoned with." _Wow, that sounded cheesy._

Effie beams. "Good! You do look great, might I add. And not really like yourself."

Hmm. I guess 'looking great' isn't really _me._ Nice.

When we arrive at the buffet, I grab a plate and pile it down with fruit, scrambled and boiled eggs, little potatoes, a couple of sausages, and a cinnamon bun. I also fill a glass with orange juice and take a seat. Effie joins me at the empty table moments later.

"Where's Haymitch?" I say before shovelling forkful of eggs into my mouth.

"Right here."

I turn in surprise at the gruff voice and watch as Haymitch helps himself to some breakfast. Right behind him is Peeta, who smiles brightly at me.

"Ooh, you look good, Sweetheart." Haymitch sits down next to me with his full plate of food and pats me on the back. "Every girl in that room is going to want to be your ally."

"Not Starr," I say.

"So what." Now Peeta has sat down across from me, nothing but a roll and some fruit on his plate. "You don't need some career as your ally. I wouldn't trust anyone related to Glimmer, anyways."

I nod in agreement and then add, "But what do you guys think of Johanna Mason?"

Haymitch furrows his brow in thought. "I'm not sure about that one," he replies sincerely.

"Did you watch her games?" Asks Effie.

"Yes," says Peeta. "But she was kind of hard to read. Her whole weakling plan proves how convincing a liar she can be, and then all those murders with that axe..."He trails off, everyone getting the hint. After a few seconds of silence have passed, he continues, "Maybe we should re-watch her games. You know, with a more critical eye."

"What's the point? We've already analyzed it more than once. We know her old game plan in and out, and if she's as smart as we think she is, she won't be using it again. So what can be gained from watching it _again?"_ I know I sound a little whiny, but at this point, I really am tired of it all.

Peeta sighs. "How about this. Tonight, after training, me and you watch it one more time. Instead of looking at her survival game, we'll look at her social game. How she interacts with those tributes around her. That's something you can look for in the days ahead."

Even though this is the last way I want to spend one of my few nights left, I understand Peeta's logic. And after all the fighting we've been doing lately it would definitely be nice just to settle something peacefully.

"Fine."

Peeta looks noticeably pleased by this, as does Effie. Haymitch just shrugs and asks me if I'm ready for training.

"Yes," I say. I look at Peeta and muster up a small smile that he returns.

"Have fun," Peeta says softly, then adds, "And make some friends."

I roll my eyes and stand up along with Effie. We walk to the elevator together, Peeta and Haymitch trailing behind.

"She doesn't need a babysitter," states Haymitch gruffly when Effie steps into the elevator with me. She looks slightly offended but gets out with a curt nod.

I give a little wave as the elevator doors begin to shut. Then, all of a sudden, Peeta darts forwards and shoves his hands into what little space is left.

"Peeta!" I shout, scared that he's going to have his hands squished. Almost instantaneously, though, the doors retreat and Peeta steps into the elevator.

"I'm riding down with you," he responds simply to all the questioning looks he's receiving. The last thing I see before the doors close for good is a shrug of Haymitch's shoulders.

I turn to Peeta and walk forwards into his embrace without saying a word. We stay like that until the little ding that signals we've arrived on the main floor sounds.

Peeta pushes me back gently so that his hands are resting firmly on my shoulders. "Katniss," he whispers urgently. The doors begin to slide open and I take a step away from him, but he holds on tighter. "Listen to me. You _must_ make at least one friend. Someone who you can rely on in that arena. An ally can make the difference between your life and death."

I shrug. "Okay. I'll play nice." Peeta grins and kisses me lightly on the lips before letting me go.

"Good luck," he says, an edge of apprehension to his tone.

"I could use some," I mutter under my breath while walking away from the elevator and Peeta.

When I walk into the Training Area, there's only two other tributes there. Both are standing in corners opposite each other, and both are looking at the floor.

I recognize the tall girl right away. She's the seventeen year old tribute from District 11, the girl who was dressed in a black polka-dotted leotard with a cow bell around her neck. Her name was something along the lines of 'Liz'. Nice and plain like 'Rue'.

I pin my district number onto my shirt and begin to survey the area. I recognize a few of the people running the stations. The sense of familiarity makes me feel a little more at ease, and I begin to relax slightly.

Well, that is until I see Johanna Mason stride confidently into the room. She catches my gaze and moves towards me.

"Hi Katniss," she greets me before looking me up and down. "I like your outfit. Don't you think you'll get kinda hot in it, though? I mean, it is a sweat suit."

I shake my head. "No. The fabric's quite breathable. Cinna designed it especially for this purpose."

Johanna nods knowingly. "Lucky you. My stylist is a budding lunatic, and I beg her to let me design some of my outfits. I don't trust her one bit."

Immediately, I feel my eyes drawn to what she's wearing – a tiny pleated skirt and a white tank top. But what scares me is the huge amounts of muscle making up her arms and legs. "Well, it looks as though you won't be overheating any time soon."

"Yeah, I designed this one myself. It's," she pauses, "_pretty."_

_Yeah, right, _I think to myself_, more like terrifying._ Johanna is definitely not one of the people I want on my bad sad. The power she could pack behind a punch with muscles like those...

We continue to stand together as the remaining tributes flood into the room. It seems pretty empty without the boys.

"Imagine what they must be thinking," whispers Johanna. "Me and you, the only second time tributes. The _experienced _ones. Seems natural that we partner up, don't you think? Those little girls are probably shaking in their boots. We'd be a force to be reckoned with."

I take a shaky breath, trying to buy myself time to think of a reply. Sure, Johanna would make a good ally _physically_, but the chances of her turning around and killing me while I sleep are extremely high. Do I really want to take a chance like that? Do I really want Peeta to have to watch me get killed by my supposed ally?

"Attention, tributes." I look away from Johanna and up into the familiar face of Atala, the woman who ran training last year. She gives me a hint of a smile before going on to explain our training schedules and the stations. While she speaks, I take the opportunity to size up my fellow tributes. Off to Atala's left is Stunning Starr, dressed in teeny spandex shorts and a tight, white t-shirt. Her shiny brown hair is braided off to the side so that it falls over her shoulder. I tear my eyes away before she can catch me staring and look fleetingly at the others.

Atala finishes speaking and nods at us to begin. Johanna takes me by the arm before I can flee to the bow and arrows station and drags me off to the side.

"So what do you say?" She asks boldly, a smirk tugging at the left corner of her mouth. I try to read her expression, but she's managed to hide any emotion other than confidence expertly. I honestly can't tell if she's setting me up to fall or genuinely trying to become my ally.

"Let's start working through these stations," I say hurriedly. Johanna looks at me with such intensity that insecurity floods my body. I've rarely felt so exposed in my life.

Johanna shrugs. "Fine," she says simply. "But I'll be waiting to have this little conversation with you after we're done for the day."

I nod curtly and set off towards my favourite station. As soon as I pick up the bow, instinct takes over and everything else in the room fades to the back of my mind. I'm doing such a good job hitting targets that the room goes silent with awe. I don't notice until the person working at the station stops throwing plastic chickens in the air. The silence is suffocating, and I lower my bow slowly.

Next thing I know, the silence is shattered by a loud clapping noise. I turn around to see Starr, her hands joined while she holds a length of rope to her side with her elbow. Her expression says it all. She sneers audaciously at me, then lets the rope fall to the ground.

"Good work, Mellark," she hisses. "Oh – my mistake. _Everdeen._ Never did make it to your wedding did you?"

I say nothing, but I feel my grip on the bow tighten.

"So you think you're the only one who can shoot an arrow, _Everdeen_? Well let me show you a little something-something." Starr struts towards me, hands on hips. She plants her dainty feet on the floor next to me and picks up a thin, somewhat flexible looking bow. With a toss of her long blonde ponytail, she positions the arrow and looks firmly at the man behind the station. "Toss it," she orders, motioning with her chin at the chicken. He looks at her unsurely.

"You sure Miss? Wouldn't you like to start smaller with the dummy?"

Starr narrows her eyes. "Just _throw _it," she commands. I glance around the room to see every single tribute apart from Johanna – who's busy examining the varieties of axes and spears a few stations down from us – staring at me and Starr.

The man shrugs and raises his arm in preparation to throw. Two milliseconds later, the chicken is pinned to the backdrop with an arrow through its throat. A collective gasp rings out in the room and Starr smirks. "Throw," she shouts again, and the man obliges. Again, she nails her shot, this time getting it in the eye.

My signature move.

I take a quick breath and look up at Starr, who's half a foot taller than me. "Good job," I muster up the nerve to say.

"I've done better," she says dismissively. Then she turns to the rest of the room and waves her hands in a 'get on with it' motion. All the uneasy and tense tributes turn back to their stations.

"Looks like you've finally met your match," she whispers in my ear before moving back in the direction of the knot-tying station.

Looks like I have. In Glimmer's revenge seeking little sister.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"I don't want to talk about it," I say the second I step out of the elevator and onto the District 12 floor. Peeta forces a smile and Effie looks crestfallen.

"Let's go up to the roof," suggests Peeta, reaching out for my hand. I look down at it, trying to memorize every callous and crease, forming as accurate a picture as I can in my mind to take with me into the games. But I can't bring myself to take it. Instead, I give Peeta a tiny shake of my head and walk away.

This is just one of those times where I have to be alone.

Once in the safety of my bathroom, I risk a glance in the mirror. The hair that has escaped my ponytail is glued to my red cheeks with sweat and the mascara has totally smudged in the corners and under my eyes. My sweat suit is stuck to my body awkwardly. Both my hands are covered in paint, and my face looks pretty hollow for someone who had such a large breakfast. I look absolutely _awful. _

I bet Starr still looks fantastic.

I know that the first thing I should do is take a _long _shower, but I don't feel like doing much of anything. So I settle for sprawling out across my bed instead. I'm playing connect-the-dots with the little specks on the ceiling when there's a careful knock on the door.

"What?" I snap, trying to remain focused on the tree design I'm making. It's probably the most enjoyable thing I've done all day.

"Can I come in?" Comes Effie's timid voice from outside. "Please, Katniss?"

_No._ "Fine."

The large brown door opens and Effie enters, albeit cautiously. She hovers around the entrance to my room for a moment before shutting the door behind her and approaching my bed.

"How are you feeling?" She asks harmlessly. But after the endless day I'd endured, it's enough to push me to my breaking point. I jump up to face her, my fists clenched.

"How do you think I feel?" I spit at her. "I just got back from _training. _Because I'm a tribute in the god-damned Hunger Games. _Again._ How would you feel if you'd just spent the day preparing to die? _AGAIN!"_

Effie doesn't even blink. I guess she's gotten pretty used to my tirades by now.

"What, no fake big smile for me?" I say sarcastically. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I want to stuff them right back in. But I can't. And my pride has been dealt all the blows it can take in one day, anyways.

So I let the tension hang between us like a live wire, neither Effie nor I brave enough to touch it. At first. Effie breaks the silence a moment later with her long, spindly arms in their ridiculous cap sleeves crossed protectively over her chest.

"Katniss, do you think I _like_ to watch you go through this?" She says, defeated. "Sure, this is my job. And when I don't really know my tributes it's easy to put on a smile and get on with it. But you've become like...like," she pauses, thinking out a response. I can practically see the gears turning in her heavily manicured head. "I really, _really _care about you," she continues instead. "And watching you _prepare to die _is killing _me_!"

I stare at the exasperated Effie before me, utterly speechless. "Oh," is all I can manage to get out. This new Effie is kind of confusing me.

"So I would appreciate it if you came out for some dinner now and tell me and Peeta about training. I've heard just about a million horror stories from my past tributes and they were _twelve_, so yours certainly won't unhinge me anymore than I've already been unhinged. It might benefit us both if you remember that this is my job. I'm used to it." And with that, Effie turns on her heels and slips from my room.

What just happened? I stand, unmoving, where Effie left me. This is _not _the Effie I've come to know and...well, _tolerate_. Or maybe this is who Effie has been all along; her facade is just the wall that keeps the reality of her situation each year from crashing down on her. Who knows? Maybe being Effie isn't as easy as it looks. But I don't have time to sort through it right now.

Feeling – for the second time that day – that I owe Effie, I walk out into the hall. It's silent. No one is seated at the table; no one is even in the room apart from the waiter. I glare at him and he looks at the floor uncomfortably, shifting his wait from one foot to the other. Typical. He's probably discovered that looking straight into the eyes of the sacrificial lamb can make a person feel pretty damn guilty.

My stomach grumbles quietly. "I'll have the soup," I say passively, sitting down at the empty table. "And some hot chocolate."

The waiter nods uneasily and disappears from my sight.

The silence is suffocating. Isn't that what I was just hoping for? Some time alone? I clench and unclench my fists under the table and glance around the room. Being alone always seems to be my answer for everything, but it's starting to get tiring. No one is an island. And maybe it isn't _so _bad to lean on someone willing when the going gets tough. Like Peeta, for instance.

_What am I turning in to?_ Effie's rapid change in persona is rubbing off on me. Now is _not _the time to start getting soft.

"Your hot chocolate and a bread basket to get you started," the waiter announces shyly, setting the cup and basket down on my placemat. His hands are shaky and he almost knocks over the candlestick in the center of the table. "Sorry," he mumbles under his breath before practically running away from me.

I reach into the basket and pull out an unfamiliar piece of bread. It's brown with little multi-coloured seeds in it. For whatever reason, it makes me want to cry.

How many varieties of bread will I never have the chance to taste?

I hear muted footsteps coming down the hallway and turn to see Peeta making his way towards me. He's wearing the most ridiculous slippers I'd ever seen. They're purple and fluffy and squeak when his artificial leg falls a little too heavily on the floor.

And then I laugh.

And then the tears spill over.

And suddenly I'm hiccupping, blubbering, and all together losing it in front of him. I really can't tell what emotion I'm trying to express.

Is this what it feels like to be crazy?

I drop my tear-stained face to the table. I'm clearly having a nervous breakdown.

Peeta is at my side in the blink of an eye, stroking my hair, whispering comforting words in my ear. When his lips brush against my cheek, I let out a sob so big that my throat threatens to burst.

"Katniss?" Peeta is truly alarmed now. "Katniss, I know this is going to seem like a stupid question, but are you alright?"

I let out another sob and in an attempt to get a grip on something, _anything_, I fling out my arm in Peeta's direction, effectively sending my steaming cup of hot chocolate crashing to the floor.

"Ah," Peeta cries, jumping back away from me. I bet the frothy stuff scalded his hands like it just did my arm. I marvel at the way my skin tingles in protest, making me register pain. What a strange concept: pain. Is that what I'm scared of, deep down? Having to die a really terrible, painful death? Like I would have if Clove had finished me off in my first games? Nah. It's the emotional – psychological - pain that makes me want to rip my heart from my chest and end it all right now.

Then I hear a voice coming from the hall. "What's going on in here?"

Peeta, who`s wiping his hands on his pants, looks up at Haymitch as he approaches. "Nothing. We've just made a mess, that's all."

That's when my waiter materializes before me with the soup I ordered. I see a flicker of surprise – followed by annoyance – register behind his eyes, but his gaze still doesn't meet mine. Instead, he places the soup in front of me and scuttles away, promising to come back with a wet cloth.

Haymitch slides into the seat across from me and helps himself to a giant slurp of my soup, straight from the bowl. "Ugh. Really, sweetheart? This stuff tastes like coal dust. I recommend the seasoned duck rolls, plum sauces on the side."

"Would you like me to bring that for you, sir?" The waiter has returned to mop up my mess. I go ahead and let him. My minutes are numbered, and I'm not interested in spending what little time I have left wiping down the Capitol's stupid mahogany dinner table.

Haymitch grunts out a yes, adding another basket of the rolls to his order for me and Peeta to share. "On second thought, make that three orders of the duck rolls, two glasses of that sparkling cider that looks like wine in the bottle but clearly is _not_, a mug of decaffeinated coffee and a mammoth sized chocolate chip cookie doused in every sugary syrup you have. Oh, and a carrot."

The waiter looks quite overwhelmed by this large list of requests he must remember – or is he just shocked that Haymitch has spoken so many words in such a short period of time? Haymitch isn't particularly well known for his talkativeness.

"Thanks!" Peeta calls after him as he disappears from view.

No sooner have I lifted my head from the table when Haymitch announces, "You're allies with Johanna."

I hold down another maniacal laugh that is trying desperately to escape the confinement of my windpipe. "_What?_" I splutter.

Haymitch sticks his finger in my soup and starts swirling it around absentmindedly. "Her mentors have already accosted me about it. She wants you, and apparently you haven't given her a definite answer."

"So you answered _for _me?" I shout at him. By now, Peeta has seated himself next to Haymitch, looking a tad green.

"Of course I did. It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it. And he" – Haymitch jerks his thumb in Peeta's direction – "seems too distracted with his lovely thoughts of suicides and rainbows and ponies to be much of a help. Your welcome."

I bolt upright at the exact same time as Peeta, and we both start yelling at Haymitch at the exact same time.

"I'm not too distracted to help Katniss!" Peeta cries even louder than my, "_How dare you?_" And then we are both screaming obscenities at him and then at each other and even at the waiter who looks like he's about to pass out right in front of us.

Then he does.

And we finally stop shouting.

"Look what you two idiots have done," Haymitch remarks in a rather pleasant voice, considering the circumstances. "Now do you see why I should be the one calling the shots around here? You two have gone off the deep end."

And then, as if the entire thing couldn't get any worse already, Effie's familiar high pitched shriek rings out behind me. She, too, has discovered our unconscious friend.

"_Have you lost your minds?"_ She hisses rather loudly. "Murder? What next, Katniss? Are you planning on stabbing Caesar mid-interview?"

"He's not _dead_," Peeta says in exasperation. He's crouched next to the waiter and checking his pulse.

"Well," Haymitch stands up with a grunt. "I know how to fix this." He disappears into the hallway for a moment, only to return with a pail in his hands, water sloshing over the sides. He promptly dumps the ice water on the waiter's face.

Effie moans and Peeta scoots back, having received a fair dousing himself. The waiter, however, springs to his feet and flees like a shot from the room.

"I learned from the best," he says, winking at me. I remember those mornings back in District 12 when the only thing that could rouse him from his alcohol induced stupor was a bucket of ice cold water to his face. Ah, good times.

"Now that we've scarred him for life and thoroughly drenched Peeta," I say, "how about a bite to eat?"

No one objects. Since the waiter had managed to deliver our food safely to the table before crumpling, we share the dishes between the four of us. I even accept a duck roll from Haymitch, but am loath to admit that I do, in fact, like it. A lot.

When every plate has been licked clean (or, in Effie's case, scraped up by way of fork), we get down to business. The food has done wonders; I can feel it. Even though Peeta is still eyeing me like I might spontaneously combust at any moment, I feel more grounded. My perspective has shifted a fraction away from _crazy_ and is leaning towards _accommodating._

Well, as accommodating as someone such as myself can be. Which is to say, not very.

Peeta speaks first. "Johanna is your best shot of making it through the bloodbath and the following couple of days. No one – not even her – would benefit from killing an ally so early in the games."

"She isn't up for discussion," Haymitch cuts in. "I've sealed the deal. Kill her while she sleeps once you two have wiped out a good portion of the competition for all I care. But treat her with care. Don't do anything to upset her unnecessarily. Sponsors will love to see the two of you pairing up. She's been mentoring these games for a good few years now, and has no shortage of fans in the Capitol."

"But she also has more experience," Effie adds. "If it were me, I'd sleep with one eye open."

I nod. I don't like it, not one bit, but what Haymitch said makes sense. And the idea that I can simply run her through with an arrow when I'm tired of playing nice is comforting in and of itself.

"Fine," I say. "I'll partner with her in the beginning. Then kill her like I'll have to kill all the other little girls. Nothing to it, really."

Peeta seems to be the only one who catches the sarcasm infecting my tone. He looks at me sadly.

"And Starr?" Haymitch asks gruffly.

My stomach churns.

"She can shoot," I say, taking a gulp from my glass of cider. "She can shoot really, _really _well."

Haymitch raises an eyebrow. "How well is _really _well?"

I gulp. I can still see Starr taking down those plastic birds like she's doing nothing harder than picking daisies. "She's better than I am."

Silence falls all around. Effie looks like she might vomit.

"That's impossible," Peeta objects. "You've been hunting your entire life. She's been pampered by the Capitol and...and..." He trails off, tugging at his hair in frustration.

"Trained her whole life to be a Career," finishes Haymitch for him.

"She hates me," I say. "I killed Glimmer. So she wants to kill me."

"Not if you kill her first," Effie suggests. My jaw drops and I stare at her in disbelief. Peeta drops his hands to his sides and Haymitch raises an eyebrow.

Looking uncomfortable, Effie hurries to add, "I mean, that's the most logical solution, isn't it?"

Peeta nods. "Exactly. She doesn't stand a chance against you and Johanna."

"And the Careers this year will only be girls, and half the size as groups in the past. You and Johanna need to take them out right at the start, beginning with Starr." Haymitch pauses, thinking, before adding, "And then you take out Johanna."

It hadn't hit me until then just how quickly these games were going to go. Half the tributes. Two experienced killers. A handful of little girls.

In theory, this doesn't make any sense. The Capitol loves the games. Why would Snow allow so many factors to align that will all contribute to the rapid closing of the third Quarter Quell?

There's only one answer to that question:

He wants to kill me as quickly and efficiently as possible.

But looking around at the determined faces of my friends, I suddenly come to the realization that if Snow wants to eradicate me as quickly and efficiently as possible, I must to everything in my power to stick around. Stir up as much trouble as I can. Give the Gamemakers a run for their money.

After all, I am the Girl on Fire. And fire can't be captured easily in the palm of a hand.

**A/N: Happy summer! I'm sorry if you guys have completely forgotten about what's happened in this story so far, because, to be totally honest, I did. But I've re-read all the Hunger Games books, seen the movie (four times) and read this fanfiction through again. Now that I'm more familiar with this world again, hopefully I won't make too many mistakes. As always, thank you for reading, favoriting, following and reviewing :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

I'm up and ready for training before anyone has to wake me. Not that I needed waking, seeing as sleep had proved as elusive as peace of mind.

It appears that our dear waiter has recovered, because it is he who comes out to take my breakfast order while I sit alone at the table. After our discussion the previous night, I'd fallen into bed with Peeta, who didn't make a move on me outside of holding me firmly to his chest as he slept. It had been difficult to untangle myself form him when the sun began to make its first appearance of the day. I'd had to gently peel our skin apart, one inch at a time, until his arms were arranged serenely on his chest and I was shimmying off the bed. But I'd done it, and here I was now, sipping orange juice and buttering a golden bagel that had the shape of a perfect _O_.

Effie is the first to join me, her purple lochs pinned to her head with diamond studded clips. Her makeup can even be described as relatively tame in the realm of Capitol socialites. She gives me a gracious smile and sinks into the chair across from me.

"Sleep well?" She asks.

"Not a wink," I reply before biting ravenously into my bagel. I take my time to chew and swallow, then add, "But I'm up and at 'em. Ready to go play nice with Johanna and knife some dummies."

Effie doesn't look convinced, but she doesn't push the matter. Instead she asks me about my training suit and tells me how she had it washed last night and goes on and on about how stunning I looked in it. I nod my head every now and then, continuing to work away at my bagel, tuning out that Effie-prattle I've become so familiar with. After eating an unnaturally yellow banana and sipping at some more of that delicious hot chocolate, I bid Effie farewell and leave to lace up for Training.

Peeta bolts up the moment I let the door click quietly behind me. His eyes are bloodshot and his hands tremble uncontrollably on top of the smooth white sheets. "Katniss? Oh, thank God."

I make my way over to him and perch on the side of my bed, taking his cold, shaky hand in mine. It's covered in sweat. Upon closer examination, I discover that Peeta is coated in a thin sheen of sweat from head to toe.

"What's the matter?" I ask instinctively, my mind spinning uncontrollably and launching me back into my first arena; the cave. Peeta, injured, covered in sweat. Dying.

I hold up a hand to his forehead and am more relieved than words can say when it comes away without experiencing a spike in temperature. "You're not running a fever," I say, more to myself than to him.

And suddenly I'm being crushed, he's holding onto me so tight. I gasp for breath and he releases me.

"I'm sorry. Sorry, Katniss." He lets his arms drop to his sides. "I just...when I woke up..." His face takes on a green-y tinge and he swallows. "You were gone, and all the nightmares...the ones where I'd lost you...they were real..." He's breathing a little too rapid for my tastes now, and I smooth his damp hair with one hand while gently patting his elbow with the other.

"I'm here," I coo, leaning in and kissing him lightly on the cheek. "I'm here."

Peeta pulls away from me for a moment, fixing his gaze on mine. He seems to be drinking me in. I smile, a little embarrassed, and that's when he wraps his arms around my waist in a vice-like grip and devours my mouth with his.

It's real. So real. So impossibly real are the feelings I have for Peeta Mellark; so deliciously unquenchable. We go at it for what feels like mere seconds, but could have been an hour, a day, an eternity. Time is meaningless. This moment – however long – is my everything.

But I know as well as anyone that life is too cruel to let these moments last.

And next thing I know, Haymitch is barging into my room with a huge cup of something that probably contains caffeine. He takes one look at us and throws his free hand over his eyes.

"I never saw this," he moans. "I never saw this. Right?"

I roll off Peeta, yank my shirt back down, and stagger to the floor.

"Right," Peeta says. I glance over at him and see an amused smirk turning up the corners of his lips.

At least someone has gotten a good laugh out of this.

Haymitch lowers his hand and takes a huge swig from his mug. Then another. His mortification most likely mirrors my own.

I clear my throat and take a few more steps away from the bed. "I was just..."

"Getting ready for Training, I hope," says Haymitch sternly. He waves me towards my bathroom. "Effie was wondering what happened to you."

I nod and make a beeline for the sanctuary that is my bathroom. My sweat suit is hanging, clean and pressed, from the curtain rod above the bath tub. As I pull it on, I can just make out the muffled version of whatever conversation is being had between Haymitch and Peeta.

"-if you knock," Peeta is saying.

Haymitch makes a guttural noise that relays both sarcasm and embarrassment. "I _did_ knock, you idiot! But Katniss is running behind and I had to make sure she was getting ready. Which, thanks to you, she clearly was _not._"

"My apologies," Peeta replies smoothly.

I smile a little to myself, imagining Haymitch uprooting his hair in frustration. "Katniss?" He barks. "Get out! You're going to be late!"

I hurriedly zip up my top, rinse my mouth, and splash my face with ice water. _Focus_, I demand the girl I see in the mirror. Out loud, I call, "Coming!" and then I open the door, braiding my hair down the side of my head as I move.

Peeta has gotten out of my bed and pulled on a shirt. He waits with Haymitch by the door. "Let's go," he growls, and then we're off, heading towards the elevators.

Effie meets us there. "All ready to go, Katniss?" She asks me pleasantly. I nod and turn towards the elevator that is just beginning to open. Peeta steps in beside me, taking my hand.

"Play nice," Haymitch reminds me.

And then the doors shut them out.

Eleven floors. Eleven floors alone with Peeta.

At first neither of us move. We watch the needle point at an illuminated number eleven, but the elevator doesn't stop. It also passes by ten.

That's when Peeta makes his move. All at once I'm being pressed into the hard metal bar extending around the perimeter of the car, and I don't care one bit. My hands are in Peeta's hair, his grasping at my face, by arms, my waist, my...

"Hello."

Peeta jumps away from me like he's been stung and we both look at the open elevator door. My gaze flits to the illuminated number indicated by the needle.

Seven.

Johanna Mason strides in, her hair pulled away from her face with an elastic, her toned body covered once again by only the tiny skirt and tank top. She flashes Peeta a dazzling smile. My hands ball into fists behind my back.

"Hello, Johanna," he says coolly. He takes a step backwards so that our shoulders touch.

"Having fun, _ally_?" Her tone seems harmless enough, but I don't miss its suggestive undertone.

I offer her a tight smile. "Plenty."

We arrive without further incident. Peeta kisses me goodbye, and I exit the elevator with Johanna's arm linked through mine.

I honestly have no idea how this happened.

Most of the other girls have already assembled. I take a quick inventory of the near-empty room, counting eleven including Johanna and I. Yesterdays Starr ordeal had completely distracted me from how few of us were stationed in the room. Only twelve in total. All relatively small compared to some of the brutes I had to deal with last year.

Everyone is present except for Starr.

"Where's your friend?" Johanna whispers in my ear while Atala makes another quick introduction. I catch the eye of a few of the younger tributes who are staring at me and Johanna in horror. What they don't realize is that I feel the same sense of impending doom that they do.

"Starr?" I whisper back.

"Duh," is Johanna's typical reply.

I shake my head. Atala finishes and we disperse, Johanna and I sticking together, making it very, very obvious to anyone that hadn't already guessed that we are in a tight alliance. I read the expression of the girl from District 8, the one who cried during the Opening Ceremonies. She's tearing up again just looking at me. Being as heartless as I know I am, I quickly divert my gaze and follow Johanna over to the make-shift boxing ring in the corner.

The morning passes in a flurry of activity and pain. Johanna and I fight each other again and again, and I find myself getting badly beaten time after time. She keeps shouting like a maniac at me, things like: "Block, you idiot, block!" and "Nail my eye! Not my arm, brainless!" I'm bruised and bloody when we finally step out of the ring; Johanna's shirt is stained with red, but I know it to be my blood, not hers. We retrieve our lunch trays and sit right in the middle of all the girls, who are scattered around the perimeter of the lunch room and eating alone. I spot the District 2 tribute, a large, pudgy girl with long black hair who I remember as being 16, eyeing me like I'll be her next meal. I shudder inwardly and turn back to Johanna.

"You really need to work on your hand to hand combat," she says, pointing out the obvious.

I roll my eyes at her.

"I mean, really. I don't want a useless chunk of fat following me in the arena. But if worse comes to worse, I suppose you can just shoot your arrows and throw knives," she goes on. I picture myself knifing the twelve year old from three. My lunch almost makes a re-appearance.

Just as we're dumping off our emptied trays, I hear the unmistakeable thud of the door to the training area. She's upon me in milliseconds.

"Hello, Katniss," she purrs in my ear, reaching over my shoulder to pluck my half-eaten apple off my plate. I hear a crunch as she bites in, right next to my ear.

"Starr," Johanna says evenly. She pries my tray from my white knuckled-fingers and throws it on the growing heap, elbowing District 2 out of the way. She scowls at us, and I swear that she's about to sink her fist into Johanna's face, but I'm already being dragged over to the archery station. Starr isn't far behind.

"So," she says idly while Johanna equips herself and I remain frozen by her side. "What did I miss this morning? I decided to sleep in. As if I'd actually _learn_ anything from these inexperienced fools."

"Oh, nothing much," Johanna replies in that same indifferent tone. "Just Katniss destroying half the tributes in the ring. Quite a sight. Who knew the Mockingjay could pack a punch?"

My jaw goes slack as I stare at Johanna in shock. She doesn't even look at me. "Give me a hand, Girl on Fire."

Starr remains behind us while I feed Johanna tips on how to better aim and time her shots in her ear. I'll be damned if Starr learns anything new from me.

"Not keen on sharing?" Starr says. I spin on her.

"Don't you have something better to do?" I snap. "Like decapitate some dummies and stalk twelve year olds?"

Starr's placid expression morphs into one so cold, so full of hatred, that I'm tempted to take a step backwards. But I hold my own and glare back at her.

"Be careful what you say, Katniss," she hisses, coming right up to me and pressing a manicured nail into my chest. "I can't _wait _to get into that arena and destroy you like you did my sister. Maybe I'll be lucky and there'll be some trackerjackers I can toss in your ugly face. I'll even stick around long enough to watch you die, watch the light leave your eyes. Then I'll dispose of your little friend here."

Johanna turns around, fiddling menacingly with the arrow in her hand. "I'd like to see you try," she spits. She isn't exactly losing her control, but this is as close as I've ever seen Johanna get. If looks could kill. But then her lips curl and she cocks her hip. "All that is is wishful thinking, my dear. This year will be the first where a Victor is crowned for the second time."

Atala chooses this moment to get up in our faces, ordering Starr to lay off and find her own station. As Starr turns to go, Johanna calls after her, "Watch your back!" and Atala gives us a dirty look before following.

"I hate her," Johanna declares.

"We need to get her out first," I say. Right now, she poses the biggest threat to Peeta's sanity. I can be sure that however she chooses to kill me, it will be long and drawn out, with lots of hacking and pain. The thought of Peeta – good, kind, sweet Peeta – having to watch this, along with my mother, Gale and Prim, is enough to kill me of itself. But I don't let it. I have a vendetta to carry out against Snow, and so I turn back to Johanna and steady her arrow before she lets it go flying.

I imagine that the bulls-eye she hits belongs to Snow.

**A/N: Thank you everyone for the sweet words and support :) Keep reading, favoriting and reviewing!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

I don't bother hiding the details of my day when I return to the District 12 floor that evening. Peeta embraces me the moment I step out of the elevator, gently kissing away every bruise and scratch, rubbing my shoulders to encourage my muscles to unwind. Haymitch even gives me a high five; apparently Johanna's mentors are very pleased with our partnership. Effie gives me a fleeting hug before leading us all into dinner.

Cinna and Portia join us when the soup and salads are being served. Portia, despite not having a male tribute to dress and style this year, has stuck around to help Cinna with his designs and touch up Peeta for his public appearances. She is visibly more at ease than last year, when she had the task of prettying up a young boy just to have him murdered days later. Cinna, however, doesn't give any indication that he is going to crack under the pressure. He graciously kisses Effie's hand and my cheek, makes chit chat with Haymitch and slaps Peeta companionably on the back. We are all in good spirits.

As each course is brought out and we devour all the food in sight, Cinna describes the outfit he is finishing up for my interview with Caesar Flickerman. His unifying idea is also his primary goal: to send me out with a bang. I am more than willing to make this happen, and Cinna knows it.

"What will you do for your little performance tomorrow?" Haymitch asks me over chocolate fondue. "Shoot some more apples? Or will you be moving on to the Gamemakers themselves?"

"Haymitch!" Effie cries, but even she doesn't sound at all serious.

I shrug, skewering a perfect strawberry from the fruit platter and swirling it around in the melted chocolate. "They all know I can shoot. I want to surprise them."

"Good plan, sweetheart. Make them remember you."

Peeta looks contemplative as he chews. I reach out and take hold of his hand under the table. He gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"Just...don't do something _too_ rebellious," he says, choosing his words with care. "You don't want to leave Johanna ally-less before the games even begin!" He lets out a tense laugh that no one at the table echoes but Effie. And even hers is too hollow to fool anyone.

Now it's my turn to squeeze his hand. "Don't worry."

"You can always brainstorm with Johanna tomorrow morning," Cinna points out, and his suggestion is met with assent form Portia and Effie. Haymitch seems neutral on the matter, but Peeta puts his foot down.

"Don't tell her what you're going to do in there," he says forcefully. "Trust her when it's to your benefit, but Katniss...just remember what game you're playing."

I think everyone's words over while practically sipping fondue from the ladle. No one seems to care. I polish off the pot and Effie orders another one, sans fruit.

"I'll be off to bed then," Portia says, placing her napkin on her plate and pushing back in her chair. Cinna stands with her.

"Good night," he says to the group at large, and then to me, "I'm sure you'll do fantastic tomorrow, whatever you choose to do. I'd be willing to bet on it." He winks to drive his point home, but the implied meaning of his words isn't lost on me. _If I could bet, I'd bet on you_.

During the time it takes me to drain the second pot, Effie clears out too. Now it is just us victors. I try to ignore the 'covert' glances they keep shooting each other over my head. Instead, I hold the pot to my lips and drink the rest of the stuff. When I put it back down on the table, Peeta takes one look at me and starts killing himself laughing.

"What?"

Haymitch takes my chin in his hand and snorts. "Looking good, sweetheart."

Confused, I lift a hand to my lips, and it comes away covered in chocolate. I check my nose, chin and lower cheeks. All covered. I can feel the heat rushing to my cheeks.

"I'm going to bed," I say quickly. "Night."

Peeta stands up abruptly and bends down to kiss me full on the lips. "Mmm. Don't go just yet. You ate all the fondue before I had a chance to take a crack at it, so I'd like seconds, please." I can't help but laughing a little myself as he kisses (and, I suppose, licks) the chocolate off my face. At some point during this time, Haymitch excuses himself rather rudely and disappears into his room.

"You taste good," Peeta tells me with a grin.

"You don't taste too bad yourself," I reply playfully.

Our gazes remain locked on each other long after, and slowly I can see the mischievous look in Peeta's eyes transform into something more serious: raw fire. Passion. I don't need to grant him permission to do what he does next because, honestly, I'm just as invested in it as he is.

Peeta sweeps me off my feet, muffling my cry of shock with his lips as I wrap my hands tightly around his neck. When we reach my bedroom door and he tries to pull away, probably to ask me a question that I already know the answer to, I just press myself more firmly into him. This, it seems, is answer enough. And before I know it, he has pushed open the door, kicked it shut behind us and lain me down on my own bed.

His weight presses down on me almost immediately after. I relish in the security it brings, locked like I am in Peeta's strong grasp. We have never shared a moment quite like this before.

I relish in that too.

His fingers run up and down my sides, tantalizing, inviting. He kisses my neck and I have to find it within myself to breath. I tangle one hand in his shirt and the other in his hair.

"Katniss," he gasps, his voice hoarse and choked with emotion. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." The word sound almost like a growl coming from my parched lips. Anything to bring his own back over mine.

This is all Peeta needs to here. But after a moment, I think of something disturbing that I hadn't thought of before:

The Capitol probably has my room bugged. Someone can most likely hear – maybe even _see_ – what is going on between Peeta and me. This is _our _moment. The thought of President Snow taking ownership of this, too, makes me want to vomit.

"Peeta," I pant, trying to pull away. "Peeta, stop."

He pushes himself up above me, and the hunger I see in his eyes is undeniable. "What-"

"The roof," I manage to say, even as every one of my muscles reaches out towards him in a longing so painful that I can hardly draw breath.

Peeta understands immediately. The roof – that is the one place where the sound of the wind in the chimes and the darkness of the sky will conceal us, and we will be nothing more than two shadows against a black horizon. I pull up my comforter around my body and curl up in Peeta's arms for the journey upstairs.

The roof is empty, like usual. The chimes clang loudly, but in a sort of harmony, when struck by the cool nighttime breeze. Peeta brings us into the very middle of the little garden where I can smell the intoxicating scent of so many flowers blooming at once and sets me down – comforter and all – carefully on the ground.

"Peeta," I whisper, and every thought, every emotion running through my veins makes itself clear to him.

We wake up to the most beautiful sunrise imaginable.

Effie throws herself into a fit when she finally stumbles upon me and Peeta on the roof.

"You're going to be late!" She cries. "I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Sorry," I say, and am about to get up when Peeta tightens his hold on my wrist. I look over at him, at the warning look in his eyes, and realize that the only thing shielding my body from Effie is the comforter. And if I take that with me, there will be nothing to cover Peeta.

Uh oh.

"Uh, I'll be down in a minute. Just wait with Haymitch-"

And then Haymitch bursts onto the roof, coffee sloshing out of his mug.

"C'mon, sweetheart. We need to talk about your session."

"You need to be in the elevator in five minutes!" Effie says shrilly.

"And have you two given any thought to what you're going to show them in there?" Haymitch adds.

"We don't have time for this, Katniss!" Effie shouts. "Just stand up already!"

"I-" I look at Peeta for support. Maybe he can use his gift with words to spin this into something more appropriate and less mortifying than it is. But he is trying desperately to keep a smile off his rosy face. I shoot daggers at him and turn back to Haymitch.

"Yeah, I'm not going to be doing that until you both vacate this premise."

"Why _ever_-" Effie stops as it dawns on her. Colour floods her made-up cheeks. "Come along, Haymitch," she says, grabbing his arm and manually dragging him towards the door. "Let's give these two some privacy."

Haymitch shrugs and sips from his mug as he follows her out. "Whatever. As long as I see you at the elevator in two minutes, Katniss."

"Okay!" I promise.

The door clicks behind them and I finally take a breath. I hadn't even noticed I'd been holding my breath.

"Well," says Peeta.

"Thanks for the help." I sit up with the comforter pulled to my chest, not caring in the least that it exposes Peeta's bare chest. "Where is my stuff?"

Peeta reaches beside him and holds up his sweats. "Allow me." Once he's pulled them on and planted a kiss on my cheek, he gets up and starts searching the roof.

I want to die.

"I can't find them," he says. Now even he has the good sense to look embarrassed. "You can wear my shirt. It's big enough."

I stalk up to him, comforter wrapped around me like a toga, and snatch his shirt from his hands.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly.

"Hold this," I tell him, holding out the comforter like a divider between me and the public. He does as I ask, and I quickly slip his shirt over my head.

"Katniss!" Haymitch yells. "Now!"

"Bye," I say awkwardly without making eye contact with Peeta. Then I rush off the roof, down to my bedroom and into the bathroom. Like yesterday, my training outfit is hung from the shower rod in pristine condition. I yank of Peeta's shirt, carefully set it aside, and don the sweat suit. I don't have time to brush my teeth, so I rinse my mouth with water and race to the elevator, braiding my hair as I go.

Effie looks like she's about to have a meltdown. When she sees me, she slaps Haymitch's shoulder and calls up the elevator.

"Go go go go!" She cries. Then, as the doors are about to shut, she adds a peppy, "Good luck!"

"Where's the boy?" Haymitch asks as the elevator starts to move down.

I glare at him and he raises his hands in front of his chest. "Alright, sweetheart. Not my problem."

The moment passes, and I realize that I have _no _plan, no inclination as to what direction I'll take. So I start with the most obvious question. "Do I go for a high or low score?"

"I don't think it matters what you aim for." Suddenly, Haymitch looks exhausted, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth. "It doesn't even matter what you do. The Gamemakers will take one of two paths: either they'll give you a super low score to hopefully cause the Capitol to lose interest in you, which isn't likely, or they'll give you a high one so that the other tributes will be forced to target you."

I sigh. "You think they'll give me a perfect 12, don't you?"

"Yeah, sweetheart. I do."

The car comes to a stop on the Training floor without any other tributes joining us in the elevator. Haymitch grasps my shoulders and looks me straight in the eyes.

"Make them _remember _you," he urges me. "That's the only thing you have control over."

I nod. "Thanks." I don't bother to watch the doors shut behind me, instead turning towards the eleven tributes already sitting at the lunch tables. A mechanical voice comes over the loudspeakers, informing us that the sessions will get underway in five minutes.

"Morning, sleepy," Johanna says, tossing me a muffin. "Hungry?"

She scoots over on her bench and I sit down next to her. "Very. Didn't have a chance to eat before I came here."

"It looks like you didn't get a wink of sleep," Johanna says observantly. "You look _terrible_. Feel free to take offense."

I laugh. She smiles.

And then Starr stalks over, ruining this strange bonding moment me and Johanna are having.

"You _do _look awful," she remarks with a smirk, coming to a stop in front of us. "Let me guess: fooling around with Lover Boy all night?"

At the use of the name the Career's had for Peeta during last year's games, a fist clenches around my heart. _Glimmer _would have called him that. And now here is her sister, even more threatening outside of the arena. I briefly wonder if there's any way she can get to him.

_No. That isn't possible._ Plus, Peeta is never alone here. Either he's strategizing with Haymitch or getting made up by Portia. He's probably safer here than anywhere, despite the irony.

"It's none of your business," I tell her coldly.

"Maybe not," Starr shrugs, "but that doesn't change the fact that I'm going to see to it that he'll be sleeping alone for the rest of his pathetic life."

Johanna stands up, getting right in Starr's face. She flinches but doesn't back down.

"Have fun trying to make it past the bloodbath!" Johanna says with fake enthusiasm. I envy her confidence.

"_DISTRICT 1: STARR SKYE"_

"That's me," Starr says arrogantly. "Wish me luck."

And then she's gone, disappearing through the formidable door leading to the Gamemakers.

My turn rolls around far more quickly than it did last year. I don't say anything after Johanna goes in, and instead take to observing the other tributes.

District 8 is a mess. She sits on the floor with her knees drawn to her chest, her entire body visibly trembling. She only gets worse when "_DISTRICT 8: MELEA MARKS" _is announced over the speakers. She can't hold herself together long enough to prevent a strangled cry from escaping her chapped lips.

Do I help her up? She's still curled in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth.

Her name is announced again with the additional words: last call.

"Get _up!"_ I urge her, suddenly frantic on behalf of this little girl. Melea looks up at me in shock. "Get up!" I repeat, louder this time. "They won't like it if you don't show!"

All the other tributes are staring at me now, especially Liz from 11. Is she thinking of Rue?

Still in obvious shock, Melea gets to her feet and, with one last glance in my direction, staggers through the door.

I make a point of focussing on my lap after that.

When District 11 – Liz Fawn – is called, I watch her get to her spindly legs and stride across the room. I don't say anything; this girl needs no prompting. But just as she's about to push through the door, she looks over her shoulder at me.

And gives me the signal of utmost respect – three fingers pressed to her lips and then out towards me – that I used to send off Rue. She's gone before I can even react.

Liz's fifteen minutes pass quickly, and then my name is being called and I'm walking towards the door, wiping my hands on my pants. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do.

The room is the same as the one I remember from last year. I'm surrounded by every sort of weapon imaginable, and targets and dummies to aim at. This year, however, a sort of shield has been placed between me and my friends, the Gamemakers. I know it's there because of the strange ripple that passes through it when I announce myself.

They can hear me loud and clear, for a moment later, Plutarch – a large man introduced to me as this year's Head Gamemaker on the Victory Tour – nods and asks me to begin.

Pushing down my feeling of revulsion at having to once again perform for these animals, I take a quick survey of the room. They all know I can shoot; I made _that _perfectly clear when I almost nailed one of these men to the wall last year. I didn't practice knife throwing, and I'm not in the mood to pick up Johanna's weapon of choice. My best bet is that she ran around wielding an axe, so it would be counter-productive for me to do the same.

_Make them _remember _you. _

I walk over to the table bearing the paintbrushes and paints in all the colours of a rainbow. Yellow, purple, red...I make little puddles of each applicable shade, then begin touching brush to paint. My hand, so inferior to Peeta's, sweeps across the floor, creating a ring of delicate flowers. I risk a glance up at the Gamemakers: they're riveted, some leaning forwards in their seats.

Taking a deep breath to center myself, I sit down in the middle of my circle of flowers. The Gamemakers have all fallen silent now. They watch me like a group of spellbound hawks.

And then I sing.


End file.
